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•‘In truth, the seal, finding her retreat intercepted by the light-footed soldier, con- 
fronted him manfully, and having sustained a heavy blow without injury, she knitted 
her brows, as is the fashion of the animal when incensed, and making use at once of her 
fore paws and her unwieldy strength, wrenched the weapon out of the assailant’s hand, 
overturned him on the sands, and scuttled away into the sea without doing him any 
farther injury.” — Antiquakt, Part II. p. 96 , 



“ They entered, and found, to their surprise, Elspeth alone, sifting ‘ ghastly on the 
hearth,’ like the personification of Old Age in the Hunter’s Song of the Owl, ‘ wrinkled 

tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discolored, torpid.’ She dismissed her spindle from her 

hand to twirl upon the floor, and soon seemed exclusively occupied in reeulatlnv ita, 
motion.” — Antiquaky, Part II. p. 183. * ' 






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WAVEELEY NOVELS 


LIBRARY EDITION. 


VOL. III. 


THE ANTIQUARY. 








I knew An.selmo. He was shrewd and prudent ; 
Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, 

And pleased again by toys which childhood please j 
As — book of fables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. 

Or the rare melody of some old ditty. 

That first was sung to please King Pepin’s cradle. 


« 


FBOM THE LAST REVISED EDITION, CONTAINING THE AUTHOR’S 
FINAL CORRECTIONS, NOTES, &c. 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY BAZIN &’ ELLSWORTH, 


13 WASHINGTON STREET, 



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PRINTED BY 

GEORGE C. RAND & AVERY. 


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ADVERTISE]\IENT. 


The present Work completes a series of fictitious 
narratives, intended to illustrate the manners of Scot- 
land at three different periods. Waverley embraced 
the age of our fathers, Guy Mannering that of our 
own youth, and the Antiquary refers to the last ten 
years of the eighteenth century. I have, in the two 
last narratives especially, sought my principal person- 
ages in the class of society who are the last to feel the 
influence of that general polish which assimilates to 
each other the manners of different nations. Among 
the same class I have placed some of the scenes, in 
which I have endeavoured to illustrate the operation of 
the higher and more violent passions ; both because the 
lower orders are less restrained by the habit of sup- 
pressing their feelings, and because I agree with my friend 
Wordsworth, that they seldom fail to express them in 
the strongest and most powerful language. This is, 1 
think, peculiarly the case with the peasantry of my 
own country, a class with whom I have long been 
familiar. The antique force and simplicity of their 
language, often tinctured with the oriental eloquence 
of Scripture, in the mouths of those of an elevated 
understanding, give pathos to their grief, and dignity 
to their resentment. 


ADVERTISEMEXT. 


ly 


I have been more solicitous to describe manners 
minutely, than to arrange, in any case, an artificial and 
combined narrative, and have but to regret that I felt 
myself unable to unite these two requisites of a good 
Novel. 

The knavery of the Adept, in the following sheets, 
may appear forced and improbable ; but we have had 
very late instances of the force of superstitious cre- 
dulity to a much greater extent, and the reader may 
be assured, that this part of the narrative is founded 
on a fact of actual occurrence. 

I have now only to express my gratitude to the pub- 
lic. for the distinguished reception which they have 
given to works that have little more than some truth 
of colouring to recommend them, and to take my re- 
spectful leave, as one who is not likely again to solicit 
iiieir favour. 


ADVERllSEMENT TO THE REVISED EDITION. 


To the above advertisement, which was prefixed to 
the first edition of the Antiquary, it is necessary in the 
present edition to add a few words, transferred from the 
Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate, respect- 
ing the character of Jonathan Oldbuck. 

“ I may here state generally, that although I have deem- 
ed historical personages free subjects of delineation, I 
have never on any occasion violated the respect due to 
private life. It was indeed impossible that traits proper to 
persons, both living and dead, with whom I have had in- 
tercourse in society, should not have risen to my pen in 
such works as Waverley, and those which followed it. 
But I have always studied to generaliz^e the portraits, so 
that they should still seem, on the whole, the productions 
■)f fancy, though possessing some resemblance to real in- 
dividuals. Yet I must own my, attempts have not in this 
last particular been uniformly successful. There are men 
whose characters are so peculiarly marked, that the de- 
lineation of some leading and principal feature, inevitably 
places the whole person before you in his individuality. 
Thus, the character of Jonathan Oldbuck, in the Anti- 
quary, was partly founded on that of an old friend of my 
youth, to whom 1 am indebted for introducing me to Shak- 
speare, and other invaluable favours ; but I thought I had 
so completely disguised the likeness, that it could not be 
recognised by any one now alive. I was mistaken, how- 
ever, and indeed had endangered what I desired should 
be considered as a secret ; for I afterwards learned that 
a highly respectable gentleman, one of the few surviving 
friends of my father, and an acute critic, had said, upon 
the appearance of the work, that he was now convinced 
who was the author of it, as he recognised, in the Anti 

VOL. I 


6 


ADVERTISEMENT TO 


quary, traces of the character of a very intimate friend 
of my father’s family.” 

I have only farther to request the reader not to suppose 
that my late respected friend resembled Mr. Old buck, 
either in his pedigree, or the history imputed to the ideal 
personage. There is not a single incident in the Novel 
which is borrowed from his real circumstances, excepting 
the fact that he resided in an old house near a flourishing 
seaport, and that the author chanced to witness a scene 
betwixt him and the female proprietor of a stage-coach, 
very similar to that which commences the history of the 
Antiquary. An excellent temper, with a slight degree of 
subacid humour ; learning, wit, and drollery, the more 
poignant that they were a little marked by the peculiari- 
ties of an old bachelor ; a soundness of thought, render- 
ed more forcible by an occasional quaintness of expres- 
sion, were, the author conceives, the only qualities in which 
the creature of his imagination resembled his benevolent 
and excellent old friend. 

The prominent part performed by the Beggar in the 
following narrative, induces the author to prefix a few re- 
marks on that character, as it formerly existed in Scot- 
land, though it is now scarcely to be traced. 

Many of the old Scottish mendicants were by no means 
to be confounded with the utterly degraded class of beings 
who now practise that wandering trade. Such of them 
as were in the habit of travelling through a particular dis- 
trict, were usually well received both in the farmer’s ha’, 
?nd in the kitchens of the country gentlemen. Martin, 
aj 'iior of the Reliquice Divi Sancti Andrea, written in 
1 683, gives the following account of one class of this or- 
der of men in the seventeenth century, in terms which 
would induce an antiquary like Mr. Oldbuck to regret its 
extinction. He conceives them to be descended from the 
ancient bards, and proceeds : — “ They are called by 
others, and by themselves, Jockies, who go about begging ; 
and use still to recite the Sloggorne (gathering-words or 
war-cries) of most of the true ancient surnames of Scot- 
land, from old experience and observation. Some of 


THE ANTKtHARY. 


7 


them I have discoursed with, and found to have reason and 
discretion. One of them told me there were not now 
above twelve of them in the .whole isle ; but he remem- 
bered when they abounded, so as at one time he was one 
of five that usually met at St. Andrews.” 

The race of Jockies (of the above description) has, I 
suppose, been long extinct in Scotland ; but the old re- 
membered beggar, even in my own time, like the Baccoch, 
or travelling cripple of Ireland, was expected to merit his 
quarters by something beyond an exposition of his dis- 
tresses. He was often a talkative, facetious fellow, prompt 
at repartee, and not withheld from exercising his powers 
that way by any respect of persons, his patched cloak 
giving him the privilege of the ancient jester. To be a 
gude cracky that is, to possess talents for conversation 
was essential to the trade of a “ puir body” of the more 
esteemed class ; and Burns, who delighted in the amuse- 
ment their discourse afforded, seems to have looked for- 
ward with gloomy firmness to the possibility of himself 
becoming one day or other a member of their itinerant 
society. In his poetical works, it is alluded to so often, 
as perhaps to indicate that he considered the consumma- 
tion as not utterly impossible. Thus, in the fine dedica- 
tion of his works to Gavin Hamilton, he says, — 

And when I downa yoke a naig, 

Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg.” 

Again, in his Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet, he states, 
that in their closing career — 

“ The last o't, the warst o't, 

Is only just to beg.” 

And after having remarked, that 

“ To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are crazed and blude is thin, 

Is doubtless great distress j” 

the bard reckons up, with true poetical spirit, the free en 
joyraent of the beauties of nature, which might counter- 


6 


ADVERTISEMENT TO 


balance the hardship and uncertainty of the life even of a 
mendicant. In one of his prose letters, to which I have 
lost the reference, he details this idea yet more seriously, 
and dwells upon it, as not ill adapted to his habits and 
powers. 

As the life of a Scottish mendicant of the eighteenth 
century, seems to have been contemplated without much 
horror by Robert Burns, the author can hardly have erred 
in giving to Edie Ochiltree something of poetical charac- 
ter and personal dignity, above the more abject of his 
miserable calling. The class had, in fact, some privileges. 
A lodging, such as it was, was readily granted to them in 
some of the out-houses, and the usual awmous (alms) ol 
a handful of meal (called a gowpen) was scarce denied 
by the poorest cottager. The mendicant disposed these, 
according to their different quality, in various bags around 
his person, and thus carried about with him the principal 
part of his sustenance, which he literally received for the 
asking. At the houses of the gentry, his cheer was mend- 
ed by scraps of broken meat, and perhaps a Scottish 
“ twalpenny,” or English penny, which was expended in 
snuff or whisky. In fact, these indolent peripatetics suf- 
fered much less real hardship and want of food, than the 
poor peasants from whom they received alms. 

If, in addition to his personal qualifications, the mendi- 
cant chanced to be a King’s Bedesman, or Blue-Gown, 
he belonged, in virtue thereof, to the aristoracy of his or- 
der, and was esteemed a person of great importance. 

These Bedesmen are an order of paupers to whom the 
Kings of Scotland were in the custom of distributing a 
certain alms, in conformity with the ordinances of the 
Catholic Church, and who were expected in return to 
pray for the royal welfare and that of the state. This 
ord.:jr is still kept up. Their number is equal to the num- 
ber of years which his Majesty has lived ; and one Blue- 
Gown additional is put on the roll for every returning 
royal birth-day. On the same auspicious era, each Bedes* 
man receives a new cloak, or gown of coarse cloth, the 
colour light blue, with a pewter badge, which confers on 


THE ANTIQ^UAEY. 


9 


ihem the general privilege of asking alms through all 
Scotland, all laws against sorning, masterful beggary, and 
everv other species of mendicity, being susnended in fa- 
vour of this privileged class. With his cloak, each re- 
ceives a leathern purse, containing as many shillings Scots 
(videlicet, pennies sterling) as the sovereign is years old ; 
the zeal of their intercession for the king’s long life re- 
ceiving, it is to be supposed, a great stimulus from their 
own present and increasing interest in the object of their 
prayers. On the same occasion one of the Royal Chap- 
lains preaches a sermon to the Bedesmen, who (as one ol 
the reverend gentlemen expressed himself) are the most 
impatient and inattentive audience in the world. Some- 
thing of this may arise from a feeling on the part of the 
Bedesmen, that they are paid for their own devotions, not 
for listening to those of others. Or, more probably, it 
arises from impatience, natural, though indecorous in men 
bearing so venerable a character, to arrive at the conclu- 
sion of the ceremonial of the royal birth-day, which, so 
far as they are concerned, ends in a lusty breakfast ol 
bread and ale ; the whole moral and religious exhibition 
terminating in the advice of Johnson’s ‘‘ Hermit hoar” 
to his proselyte, 

“ Come, my lad, and drink some beer.’^ 

Of the charity bestowed on these aged Bedesmen in 
money and clothing, there are many records in the Treas- 
urer’s accompts. The following extract, kindly supplied 
by Mr. MacDonald of the Register House, may interest 
those whose taste is akin to that of Jonathan Oldbuck of 
Monkbarns. 


BLEW GOWNIS. 

fn the Account of Sir Robert Melvill of Murdocarny 
Treasurer-Depute of King James VI., there are the 
following payments : 

‘‘ Junij 1590. 

‘‘ Item, to Mr. Peter Young, Elimosinar, twenty four 


10 


ADVERTISEMENT TO 


gownis of blew claytb, to be gevin to xxiiij auld men, ac 
cording to the yeiris of his hienes age, extending to viij*» 
viij elnis clayth ; price of the elne xxiiij 6. 

Inde, ij 8 j li. xij s. 
“ Item, for sextene elnis bukrum to the saidis gownis, 
price of the elne x Inde, viij ii. 

“ Item, twentie four piirsis, and in ilk purse twenlie 
four schilling, Inde, xxviij li. xvj k, 

“ Item, the price of ilk purse iiij Inde, viij 

“ Item, for making of the saidis gownis, viij li.” 

In the Account of John, Earl of Mar, Great Treasurer 
of Scotland, and of Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank. 
Treasurer-Depute, the Blue Gowns also appear — thus * 

“ Junij 1G17. 

“ Item, to James Murray, merchant, for fyftene scoir 
sex elnis and ane half elne of blew clailh to be gownis to 
fyftie ane aigeit men according to the yeiris of his Majes- 
leis age, at xl k. the elne, Inde, vj 8 xiij li. 

“ Item, to workmen for careing the blewis to James 
Aik man, tailyeour, his hous, xiij ^i . iiij d. 

“ Item, for sex elnis and ane half of harden to the saidis 
gownis, at vj viij d. the elne, Inde, xliij 4. iiij d. 

“ Item, to the said workmen for careing of the gownis 
fra the said James Aikman’s hous to the palace of Haly- 
rudehous, xviij 

“ Item, for making the saidis fyftie ane gownis, at xij ». 
the peice, Inde, xxx li. xij k, 

• “ Item, for fyftie ane pursis to the said puire men, tj 4. 

Item, to Sir Peter Young, Ij i;. to be put in everie ane 
of the saidis Ij pursis to the said poore men, 

j 2 xxx Ij j k. 

“ Item, to the said Sir Peter, to buy breid and drink 
to the said puir men, vj ii. xiij iiij d. 

“ Item, to the said Sir Peter, to be delt amang uihet 
puire folk, j 2 Ij 

“ Item, iipoun the last day of Junij to Doctor Young 
Deane of Winchester, Elirnozinar Deput to his Majestie 


THE ANTKIUART. 


ll 


twentie fyve pund sterling, to be gevin to the puir be the 
way in his jVIajesteis progress, Inde, iij 8 li.” 

I have only to add, that although the institution ot 
King’s Bedesmen still subsists, they are now seldom to be 
seen on the streets of Edinburgh, of which their peculiar 
dress made them rather a characteristic feature. 

Having thus given an account of the genus and species 
to which Edie Ochiltree appertains, the author may add, 
that the individual he had in his eye was Andrew Gem- 
mells, an old mendicant of the character described, who 
was many years since well known, and must still be re 
membered, in the vales of Gala, Tweed, Ettrick, Yarrow, 
and the adjoining country. 

The author has in his youth repeatedly seen and con- 
versed with Andrew, but cannot recollect whether he held 
the rank of Blue-Gown. He was a remarkably fine old 
figure, very tall, and maintaining a soldierlike, or military 
manner and address. His features were intelligent, with 
a powerful expression of sarcasm. His motions were 
always so graceful, that he might almost have been sus- 
pected of having studied them ; for he might, on any 
occasion, have served as a model for an artist, so remark- 
ably striking were his ordinary attitudes. Andrew Gem- 
mells had little of the cant of his calling ; his wants were 
food and shelter, or a trifle of money, which he always 
claimed, and seemed to receive, as his due. He sung a 
good song, told a good story, and could crack a severe 
jest with all the acumen of Shakspeare’s jesters, though 
without using, like them, the cloak of insanity. It was 
some fear of Andrew’s satire, as much as a feeling of 
kindness or charity, which secured him the general good 
reception which he enjoyed everywhere. In fact, a jest 
of Andrew Gemmells, especially at the expense of a per- 
son of consequence, flew round the circle which he fre- 
quented, as surely as the bon-mot of a man of established 
character for wit glides through the fashionable world. 
Many of his good things are held in remembrance, but are 
generally too local and personal to be introduced here. 


12 


ADVERTISEMENT TO 


Andrew had a character peculiar to himself among his 
tribe, for aught I ever heard. He was ready and willing 
to play at cards or dice with any one who desired such 
amusement. This was more in the character of the Irish 
itinerant gambler, called in that country a carrow, than of 
the Scottish beggar. But the late Reverend Doctor Rob- 
ert Douglas, minister of Galashiels, assured the author, 
that the last time he saw Andrew Gernmells, he was en- 
gaged in a game at brag with a gentleman of fortune, 
distinction, and birth. To preserve the due gradations oi 
rank, the party was made at an open window of the cha- 
teau, the laird sitting on his chair in the inside, the beg- 
gar on a stool in the yard ; and they played on the win- 
dow-sill. The stake was a considerable parcel of silver. 
The author expressing some surprise. Dr. Douglas ob- 
served, that the laird was no doubt a humourist or origin- 
al ; but that many decent persons in those times would, 
like him, have thought there was nothing extraordinary in 
passing an hour, either in card-playing or conversation, 
with Andrew Gernmells. 

This singular mendicant had generally, or was sup- 
posed to have, as much money about his person, as 
would have been thought the value of his life among 
modern foot-pads. On one occasion, a country gentle- 
man, generally esteemed a very narrow man, happening 
to meet Andrew, expressed great regret that he had no 
silver in his pocket, or he would have given him six- 
pence : — “ I can give you change for a note, laird,” re- 
plied Andrew. 

Like most who have arisen to the head of their profes- 
sion, the modern degradation which mendicity has under- 
gone was often the subject of Andrew’s lamentations. . As 
a trade, he said, it was forty pounds a-year worse since 
be had first practised it. On another occasion he observ- 
ed, begging was in modern times scarcely the profession 
of a gentleman, and that if he had twenty sons, he would 
not easily be induced to breed one of them up in his own 
line. When or where this laudator temporis acti closed 


THE ANTHtUARY. 


13 


his wanderings, the author never heard with certainty j 
but most probably, as Burns says, 

he died a cadger-powny^s death 

At some dike side.” 

The author may add another picture of the same kind 
as Edie Ochiltree and Andrew Gemmells ; considering 
these illustrations as a sort of gallery, open to the recep- 
tion of anything which may elucidate former manners, or 
amuse the reader. 

The author’s contemporaries at the university of Edin- 
burgh will probably remember the thin wasted form of a 
venerable old Bedesman, who stood by the Potter-row 
port, now demolished, and, without speaking a syllable, 
gently inclined his head, and offered his hat, but with the 
least possible degree of urgency, towards each individual 
who passed. This man gained, by silence and the ex- 
tenuated and wasted appearance of a palmer from a re- 
mote country, the same tribute which was yielded to An- 
drew Gemmells’s sarcastic humour and stately deportment. 
He was understood to be able to maintain a son a student 
in the theological classes of the University, at the gate of 
which the father was a mendicant. The young man was 
modest and inclined to learning, so that a student of the 
same age, and whose parents were rather of the lower 
order, moved by seeing him excluded from the society of 
other scholars when the secret of his birth was suspected, 
endeavoured to console him by offering him some occa- 
sional civilities. The old mendicant was grateful for this 
attention to his son, and one day, as the friendly student 
passed, he stooped forward more than usual, as if to in- 
tercept his passage. The scholar drew out a halfpenny, 
which he concluded was the beggar’s object, when he 
was surprised to receive his thanks for the kindness he 
had shown to Jemmie, and at the same time a cordial 
invitation to dine with them next Saturday, “ on a shoul- 
der of mutton and potatoes,” adding, “ ye’ll put on your 
clean sark, as I have company.” The student was 

VOL. I. 


14 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Strongly tempted to accept this hospitable proposal, as many 
in his place would probably have done ; “ but, as the 
motive might have been capable of misrepresentation, he 
thought it most prudent, considering the character and 
circumstances of the old man, to decline the invitation. 

Such are a few traits of Scottish mendicity, designed 
to throw light on a Novel in which a character of that 
description plays a prominent part. We conclude, that 
we have vindicated Edie Ochiltree’s right to the impor- 
tance assigned him ; and have shown, that we have known 
one beggar take a hand at cards vvith a person of distinc- 
tion, and another give dinner parties. 

I know not if it be worth while to observe, that the 
Antiquary was not so well received on its first appearance 
as either of its predecessors, though in course of time it 
rose to equal and with some readers, superior popularity. 


THE ANTIQUARY 


I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent ; 
Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, 

And pleased again by toys which childhood please; 
As — book of fables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. 

Or the rare m»lody of some old ditty. 

That first was sung to please King t'epm’s cradle. 



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THE ANTIQUARY. 


CHAPTER 1. 

(jlo call a coach, and let a coach be call'd, 

And let the man who calleth be the caller ; 

And in his calling let him nothing call, 

But Coach ! Coach ! Coach ! O for a coach, ye gods !" 

ChrononhotorUhoiogos. 

It was early on a fine summer’s day, near the end of 
the eighteenth century, when a young man, of genteel 
appearance, journeying towards the north-east of Scot- 
land, provided himself with a ticket in one of those pub- 
lic carriages which travel between Edinburgh and the 
Queensferry, at which place, as the name implies, and as 
is well known to all my northern readers, there is a pas- 
sage-boat for crossing the Frith of Forth. The coach 
was calculated to carry six regular passengers, beside 
such interlopers as the coachman could pick up by the 
way, and intrude upon those who were legally in posses- 
sion. The tickets, which conferred right to a seat in this 
vehicle of little ease, were dispensed by a sharp-looking 
old dame, with a pair of spectacles on a very thin nose, 
who inhabited a “ laigh shop,” nnglicc, a cellar, open- 
ing to the High-street by a straight and steep stair, at 
the bottom of which she sold tape, thread, needles, skeins 
of worsted, coarse linen cloth, and such feminine gear, to 
those who had the courage and skill to descend to the 
profundity of her dwelling, without falling headlong 
themselves, or throwing down any of the numerous arti- 

VOL. 1. 


6 


THE ANTiqUARY. 


cles which, piled on each side of the descent, indicated 
the profession of the trader below. 

The written handbill, which, pasted on a projecting 
board, announced that the Queensferry Diligence, or 
Hawes Fly, departed precisely at twelve o’clock on 
Tuesday, the fifteentli July, 17 — , in order to secure for 
travellers the opportunity of passing the Frith with the 
flood-tide, lied on the present occasion like a bulletin ; 
for although that hour was pealed from Saint Giles’s 
steeple, and repeated by the Tron, no coach appeared 
upon the appointed stand. It is true, only two tickets 
had been taken out, and possibly the lady of the subter- 
ranean mansion might have an understanding with her 
Automedon, that, in such cases, a little space was to be 
allowed for the chance of filling up the vacant places — 
or the said Automedon might have been attending a fu- 
neral, and be delayed by the necessity of stripping his 
vehicle of its lugubrious trappings — or he might have 
staid to take a half-mutchkin extraordinary with his crony 
the hostler — or — in short, he did not make his appear- 
ance. 

The young gentleman, who began to grow somewhat 
impatient, was now joined by a companion in this petty 
misery of human life — the person who had taken out the 
other place. He who is bent upon a journey is usually 
easily to be distinguished from his fellow-citizens. The 
boots, the great-coat, the umbrella, the little bundle in his 
hand, the hat pulled over his resolved brows, the deter- 
mined importance of his pace, his brief answers to the 
salutations of lounging acquaintances, are all marks by 
which the experienced traveller in mail coach or diligence 
can distinguish, at a distance, the companion of his future 
journey, as he pushes onward to the place of rendezvous. 
It is then that, with worldly wisdom, tlie first comer hastens 
to secure the best birth in the coach for himself, and to 
make the most convenient arrangement for his baggage 
before the arrival of his competitors. Our youth, who was 
gifted with little prudence of any sort, and who was, 
moreover, by the absence of the coach, deprived of the 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


7 


power of availing himself of his priority of choice 
amused himself, instead, by speculating upon the occu- 
pation and character of the personage who was now come 
to the coach office. 

He was a good-looking man of the age of sixty, per- 
haps older, but his hale complexion and firm step an- 
nounced that years had not impaired his strength or 
health. His countenance was of the true Scottish cast 
trongly marked, and rather harsh in features, with a 
shrewd and penetrating eye, and a countenance in which 
habitual gravity was enlivened by a cast of ironical hu- 
mour. His dress was uniform, and of a colour becoming 
his age and gravity ; a wig, well dressed and powdered, 
surmounted by a slouched hat, had something of a pro- 
fessional air. He might be a clergyman, yet his appear- 
ance was more that of a man of the world than usual !y 
belongs to the kirk of Scotland, and his first ejaculation 
put the matter beyond question. ' 

He arrived with a hurried pace, and, casting an alarmed 
glance towards the dial-plate of the church, then looking 
at the place where the coach should have been, exclaim- 
ed, “ Deil’s in it — I am too late after all I” 

The young man relieved his anxiety by telling him the 
coach had not yet appeared. The old gentleman, appar- 
ently conscious of his own want of punctuality, did noi 
at first feel courageous enough to censure that of the 
coachman. He took a parcel, containing apparently a 
large folio, from a little boy who followed him, and, patting 

him on the head, bid him go back and tell Mr. B , 

that if he had known he was to have had so much time, 
he would have put another word or two to their bargain, 
— then told the boy to mind his business, and he would 
be as thriving a lad as ever dusted a duodecimo. The 
boy lingered, perhaps in hopes of a penny to buy mar- 
bles, but none was forthcoming. Our senior leaned his 
little bundle upon one of the posts at the head of the 
‘;taircase, and, facing the traveller who had first arrived, 
waited in silence for about five minutes the arrival of the 
expected diligence. 


8 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


At length, after one or two impatient glances at the 
progress of the minute-hand of the clock, having com-» 
pared it with his own watch, a huge and antique gold re- 
peater, and having twitched about his features to give due 
emphasis to one or two peevish pshaws, he hailed the old 
lady of the cavern. 

‘‘ Good woman, — what the d — 1 is her name ? — Mr? 
Macleuchar !” 

Mr? Macleuchar, aware that she had a defensive part 
to sustain in the encounter which was to follow, was in 
no hurry to hasten the discussion by returning a ready 
answer. 

“ Mrs. Macleuchar — Good woman,” (with an elevated 
voice) — then apart, “ Old doited hag, she’s as deaf as a 
post — I say, Mrs. Macleuchar !” . 

I am just serving a customer. — Indeed, hinny, it will 
no be a bodle cheaper than I tell ye.” 

“ Woman,” reiterated the traveller, “ do you think 
we can stand here all day till you have cheated that poor 
servant wench out of her half-year’s fee and bountith 9” 

“ Cheated !” retorted Mrs. Macleuchar, eager to take 
up the quarrel upon a defencible ground ; “ I scorn your 
words, sir ; you are an uncivil person, and I desire you 
will not stand there to slander me at my ain stairhead.’' 

“ The woman,” said the senior, looking with an arch 
glance at his destined travelling companion, “ does not 
understand the words of action. — Woman,” again turning 
to the vault, “ I arraign not thy character, but 1 desire to 
know what is become of thy coach?” 

‘‘ What’s your wull 9” answered Mrs. Macleuchar 
relapsing into deafness. 

“ We have taken places, ma’am,” said the younger 
stranger, “ in your diligence for Queensferry.” — “ Which 
should have been half-way on the road before now,” con- 
tinued the elder and more impatient traveller, rising in 
wi ath as he spoke ; “ and now in all likelihood we shall 
miss the tide, and I have business of importance on the 
other side — and your cursed coach” 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


0 


“ The coach 9 — gude guide us, gentlemen, is it no 
on the stand yet answered the old lady, her shrill tone 
of expostulation sinking into a kind of apologetic whine. 
‘ Is it the coach ye have been waiting for 

“ What else could have kept us broiling in the sun by 
the side of the gutter here, you — you faithless woman 
Eh V’ 

Mrs. Macleuchar now ascended her trap stair, (for 
such it might be called, though constructed of stone,) 
until her nose came upon a level with the pavement ; 
then, after wiping her spectacles to look for that which 
she well knew was not to be found, she exclaimed, with 
well-feigned astonishment, “ Gude guide us — saw ever 
ony body the like o’ that !” 

“ Yes, you abominable woman,” vociferated the trav- 
eller, ‘‘ many have seen the like of it, and all will see the 
like of it, that have anything to do with your trolloping 
sex then, pacing with great indignation before the door 
of the shop, still as he passed and repassed, like a vessel 
who gives her broadside as she comes abreast of a hostile 
fortress, he shot down complaints, threats and reproaches, 
on the embarrassed Mrs. Macleuchar. He w^ould take 
a post-chaise — he would call a hackney-coach — he would 
take four horses — he must — he would be on the north 
side to-day — and all the expense of his journey, besides 
damages, direct and consequential, arising from delay, 
should be accumulated on the devoted head of Mrs 
Macleuchar. 

There was something so comic in his pettish resent- 
ment, that the younger traveller, who was in no such 
pressing hurry to depart, could not help being amused 
with it, especially as it was obvious, that every now and 
then the old gentleman, though very angry, could not help 
laughing at his own vehemence. But when Mrs. Mac- 
leuchar began also to join in the laughter, he quickly put 
n stop to her ill-timed merriment. 

“ Woman,” said he, ‘‘ is that advertisement thine 9” 
showing a bit of crumpled printed paper : “ Does it not 
set forth, that, God willing, as you hypocritically express 


THE ANTIQUE ART. 


kO 

it, the Hawes FI/, or Queensferry Diligence, would set 
forili to-day at twelve o’clock, and is it not, thou falsest 
of creatures, now a quarter past twelve, and no such fly 
or diligence to be seen 9 — Dost thou know the conse- 
quence of seducing tlie lieges by false reports 9 — Dost 
thou know it might be brought under the statute of leas- 
ing-making 9 Answer 5 and for once in thy long, useless, 
and evil life, let it be in the words of truth and sincerity 
— hast thou such a coach 9 — Is it in rerum natura ? — 
or is tliis base annunciation a mere swindle on the in- 
cautious, to beguile them of their time, their patience, 
and three shillings of sterling money of this realm 9 — 
Hast thou, I say such a coach 9 ay or no 9” 

O dear, yes, sir ; the neighbours ken the diligence 
wee], green picked out wi’ red — three yellow wheels and 
a black ane.” 

Woman, thy special description will not serve — it 
may be only a lie with a circumstance.” 

“ O, man, man !” said the overwhelmed Mrs. Mac- 
.euchar, totally exhausted by having been so long the butt 
of his rhetoric, “ take back your three shillings, and mak 
me quit o’ ye.” 

‘‘ Not so fast, not so fast, woman — will three shillings 
transport me to Queensferry agreeably to thy treacherous 
program * 1 — or will it requite the damage 1 may sustain 
by leaving my Dusiness undone, or repay the expenses 
which I must disburse if I am obliged to tarry a day at 
the South Ferry for lack of tide 9 — Will it hire, 1 say, 
a pinnace, for which alone the regular price is five shil- 
lings 9” 

Here his argument was cut short by a lumbering noise, 
which proved to be the advance of the expected vehicle, 
pressing forward with all the despatch to which the brok- 
en-winded jades that drew it could possibly be urged. 
With ineffable pleasure, Mrs. Macleuchar saw her tor- 
mentor deposited in the leathern convenience ; but still 
as it was driving off, his head thrust out of the window 
reminded her, in words drowned amid the rumbling ot 
the wheels, that if the diligence did not attain the ferr^ 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


11 


in time to save tlie flood-tide, she, Mrs. Macleuchar, 
sliould be held responsible for all the consequences that 
might ensue. 

The coach had continued in motion for a mile or two 
before the sti-anger had completely repossessed himself 
of his equanimity, as was manifested by the doleful ejac- 
ulations which he made from time to time on the too great 
probability, or even certainty, of their missing the flood- 
tide. By degrees, however, his wrath subsided ; he 
wiped his trows, remixed his frown, and, undoing the 
parcel in hi» hand, produced his folio, on which he gazed 
from time to time with the knowing look of an amateur, 
admiring its height and condition, and ascertaining, by a 
minute and individual inspection of each leaf, that the 
volume was uninjured and entire from title-page to colo- 
phon. His fellow-traveller took the liberty of inquiring 
the subject of his studies. He lifted up his eyes with 
something of a sarcastic glance, as if he supposed the 
young querist would not relish, or perhaps understand, 
his answer, and pronounced the book to be Sandy Gor- 
don’s Itinerarium Septentrionale, a book illustrative ol 
the Roman remains in Scotland. The querist, unap- 
palled by this learned title, proceeded to put several ques- 
tions, which indicated that he had made good use of a 
good education, and, although not possessed of minute 
information on the subject of antiquities, had yet acquaint- 
ance enough with the classics to render him an interested 
and intelligent auditor when they were enlarged upon. 
T/ie elder traveller, observing with pleasure the capacity 
of his temporary companion to understand and answer 
him, plunged, nothing loath, into a sea of discussion con- 
cerning urns, vases, votive altars, Roman camps, and the 
rules of castrametation. 

The pleasure of this discourse had such a dulcifying 
tendency, that, although two causes of delay occurred, 
each of much more serious duration than that which had 
drawn down his wrath upon the unlucky Mrs. Macleu- 
char, our Antk^uary only bestowed on the delay the 
Honour of a few episodical poohs and pshaws, which rath- 


12 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


er seemed to regard the interruption of his disquisition 
than the retardation of liis journey. 

The first of these stops was occasioned by the break- 
ing of a spring, vvhicii half an hour’s labour hardly re- 
paired. To the second, the Antiquary was himself ac- 
cessary, if not the principal cause of it ; for, observing 
that one of the horses had cast a fore-foot shoe, he 
apprized the coachman of this important deficiency. 
“ It’s Jamie Martingale that furnishes the naigs on con- 
tract, and uphauds them,” answered John, “ and I am 
not entitled to make any stop, or to suffer prejudice by 
the like of these accidents.” 

“ And when you go to — I mean to the place you de- 
serve to go to, you scoundrel, — who do you think will 
uphold you on contract ? If you don’t stop directly and 
carry the poor brute to the next smithy, I’ll have you 
punished, if there’s a justice of peace in Mid-Lothian 
and, opening the coach door, out lie jumped, while the 
coachman obeyed his orders, muttering, that “ if the 
gentleman lost the tide now, they could not say but it was 
their ain fault, since he was willing to get on.” 

1 like so little to analyze the complication of the causes 
which infiuence actions, that I will not venture to ascer- 
tain whether our Antiquary’s humanity to the poor horse 
was not in some degree aided by his desire of showing 
his companion a Piet’s camp, or Round-about, a subject 
which he had been elaborately discussing, and of which a 
specimen, ‘‘ very curious and perfect indeed,” happened 
to exist about an- hundred yards distant from the place 
where this interruption took place. But were I com- 
pelled to decompose the motives of my worthy friend, 
(for such was the gentleman in the sober suit, with pow- 
dered wig and slouched hat,) I should say, that, although 
he certainly w^ould not in any case have suffered the 
coachman to proceed while the horse w^as unfit for service, 
and likely to suffer by being urged forward, yet the man 
of whip-cord escaped some severe abuse and reproach 
by the agreeable mode which the traveller found out to 
pass the interval of delay. 


THE AWTIQ,UARY. 


13 


So much time was consumed by these interruptions of 
their journey, that when they descended the liill above 
the Hawes, (for so tlie inn on the southern side of the 
Queensferry is denominated,) the experienced eye of the 
Antiquary at once discerned, from the extent of wet sand, 
and the number of black stones and rocks, covered with 
sea-weed, which were visible along the skirts of the shore, 
that the hour of tide was past. The young traveller ex- 
pected a burst of indignation ; but whether, as Croaker 
says in “ The Good-natured Man,” our hero had exhaust- 
ed himself in fretting away his misfortunes beforehand, so 
that he did not feel them when they actually arrived, or 
whether he found the company in which he was placed 
loo congenial to lead him to repine at anything which de- 
layed his journey, it is certain that he submitted to his 
lot with much resignation. 

“ The d — I’s in the diligence and the old hag it be- 
longs to ! — Diligence, quoth I Thou should’st have 
called it the Sloth — Fly! — quoth she? why, it moves like 
a fly through a glue-pot, as the Irishman says. But, how- 
ever, time and tide tarry for no man ; and so, my young 
friend, we’ll have a snack here at the Hawes, which is a 
very decent sort of a place, and I’ll be very happy to 
finish the account I was giving you of the difference be- 
tween the mode of entrenching castra stativa and castra 
cestiva, things confounded by too many of our historians. 
Lack-a-day, if they had ta’en the pains to satisfy their 
own eyes, instead of following each other’s blind guid- 
ance ! — Well ! we shall be pretty comfortable at the 
Hawes, and besides, after all, we must have dined some- 
where, and it will be pleasanter sailing with tjie tide of 
ebb and the evening breeze.” 

In this Christian temper of making the best c f all occur- 
rences, our travellers alighted at the Hawes. 


2 VOL. I- 


14 


THE ANTI<irABY# 


CHAPTER II 

Sir, they do scandal me upon the road here! 

A poor quotidian rack of mutton roasted 
Dry to be grated ! and that driven down 
- With beer and butter-milk, mingled together. 

It is against my freehold, my inheritance. 

Wine is the word that glads the heart of man. 

And mine’s the house of wine. Sack, says my bush, 

Be merry and drink Sherry, that’s my posie. 

Ben Jonscnds New Inn. 

As the senior traveller descended the crazy steps ol 
the diligence at the inn, he was greeted by the fat, gouty, 
pursy landlord, with that mixture of familiarity and re- 
spect which the Scotch innkeepers of the old school used 
to assume towards their more valued customers. “ Have 
a care o’ us, Monkbarns, (distinguishing him by his terri- 
torial epithet, always most agreeable to the ear of a Scot- 
tish proprietor) is this you 9 I little thought to have seen 
your honour here till the summer session was ower.” 

‘‘ Ye donnard auld deevil,” answered his guest, his 
Scottish accent predominating when in anger, though other- 
wise not particularly remarkable, — “ ye donnard auld crip- 
pled idiot, what have I to do with the session, or the geese 
that flock to it, or the hawks that pick their pinions for 
them 9” 

“ Troth, and that’s true,” said mine host, who, in fact, 
only spoke upon a very general recollection of the stran- 
ger’s original education, yet would have been sorry not to 
have been supposed accurate as to the station and profes- 
sion of him, or any other occasional guest — “ That’s very 
true — but I thought ye had some law affair of your ain to 
look after — I have ane mysell — a ganging plea that my 
%ther left me, and his father afore left to him. It’s about 

’ back-yard — ye’ll maybe hae heard of it in the Par* 


THE AXTiqXJART. 


15 


iament-lioiise, Hutchinson against Mackitchinson — it’s a 
weel-kenn’d plea — it’s been four times in afore lire fifteen, 
and deiJ onylhing the wisest o’ them could make o’t, Sul 
just to send it out again to the outer-house — O it’s a beau- 
tiful thing to see liow lang and how carefully justice is 
considered in this country !” 

“ H(dd your tongue, you fool,” said the traveller, but 
in great good-humour, “ and tell us what you can give 
this young gentleman and me for dinner.” 

“ Ou, there’s fish, nae doubt, — that’s sea-trout and 
caller haddocks,” said Mackitchinson, twisting his nap- 
kin ; “ and ye’ll be for a mutlton-chop, and there’s cran- 
berry tarts, very weel preserved, and — and there’s just 
ony thing else ye like.” 

“ Which is to say, there is nothing else whatever ? 
Well, well, the fish and the choj), and the tarts, will do very 
well. But don’t imitate the cautious delay that you praise 
in the courts of justice. Let there be no remits from the 
inner to the outer-house, hear ye me V’ 

‘‘ Na, na,” said Mackitchinson, whose long and heedful 
perusal qf volumes of printed session papers had made 
him acquainted with some law phrases — “ the denner shaL 
be served quam primum, and that peremptorie.’^ And 
with the flattering laugh of a promising host, he left them 
in his sanded parlour, hung with prints of the Four 
Seasons. 

As, notwithstanding his pledge to the contrary, the 
glorious delays of the law were not without their parallel 
in the kitchen of the inn, our younger traveller had an 
opportunity to step out and make some inquiry of the peo- 
ple of the house concerning the rank and station of his 
companion. The information which he received was ol 
a general and less authentic nature, hut quite sufficient to 
make him acquainted with the name, history, and circum- 
stances of the gentleman, whom we shall endeavour in a 
few words to introduce more accurately to our readers. 

Jonathan Oldenbuck, or Oldinbuck, by popular con- 
traction Old buck, of ^Monkbarns, was the second son of a 
gentleman possessed of a small property in the neigh- 


16 


THE ANTI^UAET. 


bourhood of a thriving seaport town o:i the north-easteri; 
coast of Scotland, which, for various reasons, we shall de- 
nominate Fairport. They had been established for sev- 
eral generations as landholders in the county, and in most 
shires of England would have been accounted a family 

of some standing. But the shire of was filled with 

gentlemen of more ancient descent and larger fortune. 
In the last generation also, the neighbouring gentry had 
been almost uniformly Jacobites, while the proprietors of 
Monkbarns, like the burghers of the town near which 
they were settled, were steady assertors of the Protestant 
succession. The latter had, however, a pedigree of their 
own, on which they prided themselves as much as those 
who despised them valued their respective Saxon, Nor- 
man, or Celtic genealogies. The first Oldenbuck, who 
had settled in their family mansion shortly after the Refor- 
mation, was, they asserted, descended from one of the 
original printers of Germany, and had left his country in 
consequence of the persecutions directed against the pro- 
fessors of the reformed religion. He had found a refuge 
in the town near which his posterity dwelt, the n^ore read- 
ily that he was a sufferer in the Protestant cause, and 
certainly not the less so that he brought with him money 
enough to purchase the small estate of Monkbarns, then 
sold by a dissipated laird, to whose father it had been 
gifted, with other church lands, on the dissolution of 
the great and wealthy monastery to which it had belonged. 
The Oldenbucks were therefore loyal subjects on all oc- 
casions of insurrection ; and, as they kept up a good 
intelligence with the borough, it chanced that the Laird 
of Monkbarns, who flourished in 1745, was provost of 
the town during that ill-fated year, and had exerted him- 
self with much spirit m favour of King George, and even 
been put to expenses on that score, which, according to 
the liberal conduct of the existing government tow’^ards 
their friends, had never been repaid him. By dint of 
solicitation, how’ever, and borough interest, ho contrived 
to gain a place in the customs, and, being a frugal, careful 
man, had found himself enabled to add considerably te 


THE ANTI<l,TTART. 


17 


his paternal fortune. He had only two sons, of whom, a? 
we have hinted, the present laird was the younger, and 
two daughters, one of whom still flourished in single bless- 
edness, and the other, who was greatly more juvenile, 
made a love match with a captain in the Foriy-tiva, who 
had no other fortune but his commission and a Highland 
pedigree. Poverty disturbed a union which love would 
otherwise have made happy, and Captain M’Intyre, in 
justice to his wife and two children, a boy and girl, had 
found himself obliged to seek his fortune in the East 
Indies. Being ordered upon an expedition against Hyder 
Ally, the detachment to which he belonged was cut off, 
and no news ever reached his unfortunate wife whether 
he fell in battle, or was murdered in prison, or survived, 
in what the habits of the Indian tyrant rendered a hope- 
less captivity. She sunk under the accumulated load of 
grief and uncertainty, and left a son and daughter to the 
charge of her brother, the existing Laird of Monkbarns. 

The history of that proprietor himself is soon told. 
Being, as we have said, a second son, his father destined 
him to a share in a substantial mercantile concern, carried 
on by some of his maternal relations. From this Jona- 
than’s mind revolted in the most irreconcilable manner. 
He Was then put apprentice to the profession of a writer, 
or attorney, in which he profited so far, that he made 
himself master of the whole forms of feudal investitures, 
and showed such pleasure in reconciling their incongrui- 
ties, and tracing their origin, that his master had great hope 
he would one day be an able conveyancer. But he halt- 
ed upon the threshold, and, though he acquired some 
knowledge of the origin and system of the law of his 
country, he could never be persuaded to apply .it to lu- 
crative and practical purposes. It was not from any in- 
considerate neglect of the advantages attending the pos- 
session of money that he thus deceived the hopes of his 
master. “ Were he thoughtless or light-headed, or rei 
suce prodigus,^^ said his instructer, “ I would know whal 
to make of him. But he never pays away a shilling with 

VOL. I. 


18 


THE ANTIQ,IJ111Y. 


out looking anxiously after the change, makes his six 
pence go farther than another lad’s lialf-crown, and w.i 
[)onder over an old black-letter copy of the acts ol 
Parliament for days, rather tlian go to the^golf or the 
change-house ; and yet he will not bestow one of these 
days on a little business of routine, that wouid put twenty 
shillings in his pocket — a strange mixture of frugality and 
industry, and negligent indolence — 1 don’t know what to 
make of him.” 

But in process of time his pupil gained the means of 
making what he pleased of himself, for his father having 
died, was not long survived by his eldest son, an arrant 
fisher and fowler, who departed this life in consequence of 
a cold caught in his vocation, while shooting ducks in the 
swamp called Kittlefitting-moss, notwithstanding his hav- 
ing drunk a bottle of brandy that very niglu to keep the 
cold out of his stomach. Jonathan, therefore, succeeded 
to the estate, and with it to the means of subsisting with- 
out the hated drudgery of the law. His wishes were 
very moderate ; and as the rent of his small property rose 
with the improvement of the country, it soon greatly ex- 
ceeded his wants and expenditure ; and though too indo- 
lent to make money, he was by no means insensible to the 
pleasure of beholding it accumulate. The burghers of 
the town near which he lived regarded him with a 
sort of envy, as one who affected to divide himself 
from their rank in society, and whose studies and pleas- 
ures seemed to them alike incomprehensible. Still, 
however, a sort of hereditary respect for the Laird of 
Monkbarns, augmented by the knowdedge of his being a 
ready-money man, kept up his consequence with this class 
of\his neighbours. The country gentlemen were gener- 
al!^ above him in fortune, and beneath him in intellect. 
and,\excepting one with whom he lived in habits of in 
timacyj,had little intercourse with Mr. Oldbuck of Monk 
barns. He had, however, the usual resources, the com- 
pany of the clergyman, and of the doctor, wdien he 
chose to request it, and also his own pursuits and jdeas* 


THE ANTICtUART. 


19 


ures, being in correspondence with most of the virtuosi of 
his time, who, like himself, measured decayed entrench- 
ments, made plans of ruined castles, read illegible in- 
scriptions, and wrote essays on medals in the propor- 
tion of twelve pages to each letter of the legend. Some 
habits of hasty irritation he had contracted, partly, it was 
said, in the borough of Fairport, from an early disappoint- 
ment in love, in virtue of which he had commenced 
Misogynist, as he called it, but yet more by the obsequi- 
ous attention paid to him by his maiden sister and his 
orphan niece, whom he had trained to consider him as the 
greatest man upon earth, and whom he used to boast ol 
as the only women he had ever seen who were well 
broke in and bitted to obedience, though, it must be 
owned. Miss Grizzy Oldbuck was sometimes apt to jibh 
when he pulled the reins too tight. The rest of his 
character must be gathered from the story, and we dis- 
miss with pleasure the tiresome task of recapitulation. 

During the time of dinner, Mr. Oldbuck, actuated by 
the same curiosity which his fellow-traveller had enter- 
tained on his account, made some advances, which his 
age and station entitled him to do in a more direct man- 
ner, towards ascertaining the name, destination, and 
quality of his young companion. 

His name, the young gentleman said, was Level. 

“ What ! the Cat, the Rat, and Level our dog 9 Was 
he descended from King Richard’s favourite 9” 

“ He had no pretensions,” he said, “ to call himself a 
whelp of that litter ; his father was a north-of-England 
gentleman. He was at present travelling to Fairport, 
(the town near to which Monkbarns was situated,) and, 
if he found the place agreeable, might perhaps remain 
there for some weeks.” 

“ Was Mr. Level’s excursion solely for pleasure 9” 

“ Not entirely.” 

Perhaps on business with some of the commercial 
people of Fairport 9” 

“ It was partly on business, but had no reference to 
commerce.” 


20 


THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


Here he j)aiised ; and Mr. Oldbiick having piislied his 
inquiries as far as good manners permitted, was ohlig^^d 
to change the conversation. The Antiquary, ihougli by 
no means an enemy to good cheer, was a determined foe 
to all unnecessary expense on a journey ; and upon his 
companion giving a hint concerning a bottle of port wine, 
he drew a direful picture of the mixture, which, he said, 
was usually sold under that denomination, and affirming 
that a little punch was more genuine and better suited for 
the season, he laid his hand upon the bell to order the 
materials. But Mackitchinson had, in his own mind, set- 
tled their beverage otherwise, and appeared bearing in 
his hand an immense double quart bottle, or magnum, 
as it is called in Scotland, covered with saw-dust and 
cobwebs, the warrants of its antiquity. 

“ Punch !” said he, catching that generous sound as 
he entered the parlour, ‘‘ the deil a drap punch ye’se get 
here the day, Monkbarns, and that ye may lay your ac- 
count wi’.” 

“ What do you mean, you impudent rascal 9” 

“ Ay, ay, it’s nae matter for that — but do you mind 
the trick ye served me the last time ye were here 9” 

“ I trick you !” 

“ Ay, just yoursell, Monkbarns. The Laird o’ Tam- 
lowrie, and Sir Gilbert Grizzlecleugh, and Auld Ross- 
balloh, and the Baillie, were just setting in to make an 
afternoon o’t, and you, wd’ some o’ your auld-warld 
stories, that the mind o’ man canna resist, whirl’d them 
ic the back o’ beyont to look at the auld Roman camp — 
Aii^ sir turning to Lovel, “ he wad wile the bird aff 
the tree wi’ the tales he tells about folk lang syne — and 
tlid not I lose the drinking o’ sax pints o’ gude claret, 
for the deil ane wad hae stirred till he had seen that out 
at the least?” 

“ D’ye hear the impudent scoundrel!” said Monk- 
barns, but laughing at the same time ; for the worthy 
landlojd, as he used to boast, knew the measure of a 
guest’s foot as well as e’er a souter on this side Solway . 
“ well, well you may .send us in a bottle of 


THE ANTIQ,TTA11T. 


21 


“ Port na, na ! ye maun leave port and punch to 
the like o’ us, it’s claret that’s fit for you lairds ; and, I 
dare say, nane of the folk ye speak so much o’ ever drank 
either of the tvva.” 

“ Do you hear how absolute the knave is 9 Well, my 
young friend, we must for once prefer the Falernian to 
the vile Sabinum.^^ 

The ready landlord had the cork instantly extracted, 
decanted the wine into a vessel of suitable capaciousness, 
and, declaring it parfumed the very room, left his guests 
to make the most of it. 

Mackitchinson’s wine was really good, and had its effect 
upon the spirits of the elder guest, who told some good 
stories, cut some sly jokes, and at length entered into a 
learned discussion concerning the ancient dramatists; a 
ground on which he found his new acquaintance so 
strong, that at length he began to suspect he had made 
them his professional study. ‘‘ A traveller partly for 
business and partly for pleasure 9 — Why, the stage par- 
takes of both ; it is a labour to the performers, and 
affords, or is meant to afford, pleasure to the spectators. 
He seems, in manner and rank, above the class of young 
men who take that turn ; but I remember hearing them 
say, that the little theatre at Fairport was to open with 
the performance of a young gentleman, being his first 
appearance on any stage. — If this should be thee, Level } 
— Level ? yes. Level or Beiviile are just the names 
which youngsters are apt to assume on such occasions — 
on my life, 1 am sorry for the lad.” 

Mr. Oldbuck was habitually parsimonious, but in no re- 
spects mean ; his first thought was to save his fellow-travel- 
ler any part of the expense of the entertainment, which he 
supposed must be in his situation more or less inconven- 
ient. He therefore took an opportunity of settling pri- 
vately with Mr. Mackitchinson. The young traveller 
remonstrated against his liberality, and only acquiesced 
in deference to his years and respectability. 

The mutual satisfaction which they found in each oth- 
er’s society induced Mr. Oldbuck to propose, and Love) 


22 


THE ANTKIUART. 


willingly to accept, a scheme for travelling together to .ho 
end of their journey. Mr. Oldbuck intimated a wish 
to pay two-thin%s of the hire of a post-chaise, saying, that 
a proportional quantity of room was necessary to his ac- 
commodation ; but this Mr. Lovel resolutely declined. 
Their expense then was mutual, unless when Lovel oc- 
casionally slipl a shilling into the hand of a growling 
postilion ; for Oldbuck, tenacious of ancient customs, 
never extended his guerdon beyond eighteen-pence a 
stage. In this manner they travelled, until they arrived 
at Fairport about two o’clock on the following day. 

Lovel probably expected that his travelling companion 
would have invited him to dinner on his arrival ; but 
his consciousness of a want of ready preparation for un- 
expected guests, and perhaps some other reasons, pre- 
vented Oldbuck from paying him that attention. He only 
begged to see hijn as early as he could make it convenient 
to call in a forenoon, recommended him to a widow who 
had apartments to let, and to a person who kept a decent 
ordinary, cautioning both of them apart, that he only 
knew Mr. Lovel as a pleasant companion in a post-chaise, 
and did not mean to guarantee any bills which he might 
contract while residing at Fairport. The young gentle- 
man’s figure and manners, not to mention a well-furnished 
trunk, which soon arrived by sea, to his ad dress at Fair- 
port, probably went as far in his favour as the limited 
'•ecommendation of his fellow-traveller. 


THB ANTK^UART. 


23 


CHAPTER III. 

lie had h routh o' auld nick-nackcts. 

Kusty aim caps, and jingliii-jackets 

Would held the l,ouduns three in tackcU 
A townioml gude ; 

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-hackets, 

A lore the llude. 

Dut-ns. 

After lie liad settled himself in his new apartments 
at Fairport, Mr. Level bethought him of paying the 
requested visit to his fdlow-traveller. He did not make 
it earlier, because, with all the old gentleman’s good-hu- 
inour and information, there had sometimes glanced forth 
ill his language and manner towards him an air of supe- 
riority, which his companion considered as being fully 
beyond what the difference of age warranted. He 
therefore waited the arrival of his baggage from Edin- 
burgh, that he might arrange his dress according to the 
fashion of the day, and make his exterior corresponding 
to the rank in society which he supposed or felt himself 
entitled to hold. 

It was the fifth day after his arrival, that having made 
the necessary inquiries concerning the road, he went forth 
to pay his respects at Monkbarns. A foot-path leading 
over a heathy hill, and through two or three meadows, 
conducted him to this mansion, which stood on the op- 
posite side of the hill aforesaid, and commanded a fine 
prospect of the bay and shipping. Secluded from the 
town by the rising ground, wdiich also screened it from the 
north-west wind, the house had a solitary and sheltered 
appearance. The exterior had little to recommend it. 
It was an irregular old-fashioned building, some part of 
which had belonged to a grange, or solitary farm-house, 
iniiabited by the bailiff, or steward, of the monastery, 
when the place ^as in possession of the monies^ It wua 


24 


THE ANTIQ,XJART. 


here that the community stored up the grain, which they 
received as ground-rent from their vassals ; for, with tlie 
prudence belonging to their order, all their conventional 
revenues were made payable in kind, and hence, as the 
present proprietor loved to tell, came the name of Monk- 
barns. To the remains of the bailiff’s house, the suc- 
ceeding lay inhabitants had made various additions in 
proportion to the accommodation required by their fam- 
ilies ; and, as this was done with an equal contempt of 
convenience within and architectural regularity without, 
the whole bore the appearance of a hamlet which had 
suddenly stood still when in the act of leading down one 
of Amphion’s, or Orpheus’s, country dances. It was 
surrounded by tall clipped hedges of yew and holly, some 
of which still exhibited the skill of the topiarian artist,* 
and presented curious arm-chairs, towers, and the figures 
of Saint George and the dragon. The taste of Mr. Old- 
buck did not disturb these monuments of an art now un- 
known, and he was the less tempted so to do, as it must 
necessarily have broken the heart of the old gardener. 
One tall embowering holly was, however, sacred from the 
shears ; and, on a garden seat beneath its shade, Lovel 
beheld his old friend, with spectacles on nose, and pouch 
on side, busily employed in perusing the London Chron- 
icle, soothed by the summer breeze through the rustling 
leaves, and the distant dash of the waves as they rippled 
upon the sand. 

Mr. Oldbuck immediately rose, and advanced to greet 
his travelling acquaintance with a hearty shake of the 
hand. ‘‘ By my faith,” said he, “ 1 began to think you 
had changed your mind, and found the stupid people of 
Fairport sp tiresome, that you judged them unworthy of 
your talents, and had taken French leave, as my old 
friend and brother antiquary, Mac-Cribb, did, when he 
went off with one of my Syrian medals.” 


** Ars Topianct, the art of clipping yew hedges into fantastic figures. A 
Latin Poem, entitled Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account of the process. 


THE ANTIQ^ITART. 


26 


“ I hope, my good sir, I should have fallen under no 
such imputation.^’ 

“ Quite as bad, let me tell you, if you had stolen your- 
self away without giving me the pleasure of seeing you 
again. I had rather you had taken my copper Otho him- 
self. But come, let me show you the way into my 
sanctum sanctorum, my c^^ll I may call it, for, except two 
idle hussies of womankin i, (by this contemptuous plirase, 
borrowed from his brother antiquary, the cynic Anthony 
a Wood, Mr. Oldbuck was used to denote the fair sex in 
general, and his sister and niece in particular,) that, on 
some idle pretext of relationship have established them- 
selves in my premises, 1 live here as much a Caenobite 
as my predecessor, John o’ the Girnell, whose grave 1 will 
show you by and by.” 

Thus speaking, the old gentleman led the way through 
a low door ; but, before entrance, suddenly stopped 
sliort to point out some vestiges of what he called an in- 
scription, and, shaking his head as he pronounced it total- 
ly illegible, “ Ah ! if you but knew, Mr. Lovel, the time 
and trouble that these mouldering traces of letters have 
cost me ! No mother ever travailed so for a child — and 
all to no purpose — although 1 am almost positive that 
these two last marks imply the figures, or letters, LV, and 
may give us a good guess at the real date of the building, 
since we know, aliunde, that it was founded by Abbot 
Waldimir, about the middle of the fourteenth century — 
and, I profess, I think that centre ornament might be made 
out by better eyes than mine.” 

“ i think,” answered Lovel, willing to humour the old 
nan, “ it has something the appearance of a mitre.” 

“ I protest you are right ! you are right ! it never 
struck me before — see what it is to have younger eyes — 
a mitre, a mitre, it corresponds in every respect.” The 
resemblance wa» not much nearer than that of Polonius’s 
cloud to a whale, or an owzel ; it was sufficient, however, 
to set the Antiquary’s brains to work. “ A mitre, my 
dear sir,” continued he,, as he led the way through 

VOL. 1 


20 


THE ANTIC^tJAllT. 


n labyrinth of inconvenient and dark passages, a.ai ac- 
conij>anied liis disquisition with certain necessary cautions 
to his guest — “ A mitre, my dear sir, will suit our abboi 
as well as a bishop — he was a mitred abbot, and at the 
very top of the roll — take care of these three steps — 1 
know Mac-Cribb denies this, but it is as certain as that 
he took away my Antigonus, no leave asked — you’ll see 
the name of the Abbot of Trotcosey, Abbas Trottoco- 
siensis^ at the head of the rolls of Parliament in the 
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries — there is very little light 
here, and these cursed womankind always leave their tubs 
in the passage — now take care of the corner — ascend 
twelve steps and ye are safe!” 

Mr. Oldbuck had, by this time, attained tlie top of the 
winding stair which led to his own apartment, and open- 
ing a door, and pushing aside a piece of tapestry with 
which it was covered, his first exclamation was, “ What 
are you about here, you sluts 9” A dirty barefooted 
chambermaid threw down her duster, detected in the 
heinous fact of arranging the sanctum sanctorum, and fled 
out of an opposite door from the face of her incensed 
master. A genteel-looking young woman, who was su- 
perintending the operation, stood her ground, but with 
some timidity. 

“ Indeed, uncle, your room was not fit to be seen, and 
1 just came to see that Jenny laid every thing down 
where she took it up.” 

“ And how dare you, or Jenny either, presume to med- 
dle with my private matters (Mr. Oldbuck putting 
to rights as much as Dr. Orkborne, or any other professed 
student.) Go sew your sampler, you monkey, and do 
not let me find you here again, as you value your ears. — 
I assure you, Mr. Lovel, that the last inroad of these 
pretended friends to cleanliness was almost as fatal to my 
collection as Hudibras’s visit to that of Sidrophel; and I 
have ever since missed 

‘ My copperplate, witli almanacks 

Engraved upon’t, and ollif-r knacks ; 

My uiiobn*dial, with Napifrf’i boucii, 


THE ANTKtUAEY. 


27 


And several constellation stones ; ‘ 

RIy flea, niy morpeou, and punatse, 

1 purchased for my proper ease/ 

And SO forth, as old Butler has it.’ 

The young lady, after curtseying to Lovel, had taken 
the opportunity to make her escape during this enumera- 
tion of losses. “ You’ll be poisoned here with the vol- 
umes of dust they have raised,” continued the Antiquary 
^ but I assure you the dust was very ancient, peaceful, 
quiet dust, about tin hour ago, and would have remained 
so fo * a hundred years, had not these gipsies disturbed 
it, as they do every thing else in the world.” 

It was, indeed, some time before Lovel could, through 
the thick atmosphere, perceive in what sort of den his 
friend had constructed his retreat. It was a lofty room 
of middling size, obscurely lighted by high narrow lat- 
ticed windows. One end was entirely occupied by book- 
shelves, greatly too limhed in space for the number of 
volumes placed upon them, whicii were, therefore, drawn 
up in ranks of two or three files deep, while numberless 
others littered the floor and the tables, amid a chaos of 
maps, engravings, scraps of parchment, bundles of papers, 
pieces of old armour, swords, dirks, helmets, and High- 
land targets. Behind Mr. Oldbuck’s seat, (which was an 
ancient leathern-covered easy-chair, worn smooth by con- 
stant use,) was a huge oaken cabinet, decorated at each 
corner with Dutch cherubs, having their little duck-wings 
displayed, and great jolter-headed visages placed between 
them. The top of this cabinet was covered with busts, 
and Roman lamps and paterae, intermingled with one or 
two bronze figures. The walls of the apartment were 
partly clothed with grim old tapestry, representing the 
memorable story of Sir Gawaine’s wedding, in which full 
justice was done to the ugliness of the Lothely Lady ; 
although, to judge from his own looks, the gentle knight 
had less reason to be disgusted with the match on ac- 
count of disparity of outward favour, than the romancer 
has given us to understand. The rest of the room was 


28 


THE ANTiqUARY. 


panneiled, or wainscotted, with black oak, against which 
ining two or three portraits in armour, being chaiacters 
in Scottish history, favourites of Mr. Oldbuck, and as 
many in tie-wigs and laced coats, staring representatives 
of his own ancestors. A large old-fashioned oaken table 
was covered with a profusion of papers, parchments, 
books, and nondescript trinkets and gewgaws, which 
seemed to have little to recommend them, besides rust, 
and the antiquity which it indicates. In the midst of this 
wreck of ancient books and utensils, with a gravity equal 
to Marius among the ruins of Carthage, sat a large black 
cat, which, to a superstitious eye, might have presented 
the genius loci, the tutelar daemon of the apartment. 
The floor, as well as the table and chairs, was overflowed 
by the same mare magnum of miscellaneous trumpery, 
where it w^ould have been as impossible to find any indi- 
vidual article wanted, as to put it to any use when dis- 
covered. 

Amid this medley, it was no easy matter to find one’s 
way to a chair, without stumbling over a prostrate folio, 
or the still more awkward mischance of overturning some 
piece of Roman or ancient British pottery. And, when 
a chair was attained, it had to be disencumbered, with a 
careful hand, of engravings which might have received 
damage, and of antique spurs and buckles, which would 
certainly have occasioned it to any sudden occupant. 01 
this, the Antiquary made Lovel particularly aware, add- 
ing, that his friend, the Rev. Doctor Heavysterne from 
the Low Countries, had sustained much injury by sitting 
down suddenly and incautiously on three ancient cal- 
throps, or craw-taes, which had been lately dug up in the 
bog near Bannockburn, and which, dispersed by Robert 
Bruce to lacerate the feet of the English chargers, came 
thus in process of time to endamage the sitting part of a 
learned professor of Utrecht. 

Having at length fairly settled himself, and being noth- 
ing loath to make inquiry concerning the strange objects 
around him, which his host was equally ready, as far as 
possible, to explain, Lovel was introduced to a large club* 


THE ANTIQ,UAET. 


29 


or bludgeon, with an iron spike at the end of it, which, 
It seems, had been lately found in a held on the IMonk- 
barns property, adjacent to an old burying ground. It 
had mightily the air of such a stick as the Highland 
reapers use to walk with on their annual peregrinations 
from their mountains ; but Mr. Oldbuck was strongly 
tempted to believe, that, as its shape was singular, it might 
have been one of the clubs with which the monks armed 
their peasants in lieu of more martial weapons, whence 
he observed, the villains were called Colve- carles, or 
Kolb-kerls, that is, Clavigeri, or club-bearers. For the 
truth of this custom, he quoted the chronicle of Antwerp, 
and that of St. Martin ; against which authorities Lovel 
had nothing to oppose, having never heard of them till 
that moment. 

Mr. Oldbuck next exhibited thumb-screws, which had 
given the Covenanters of former days the cramp in their 
joints, and a collar with the name of a fellow convicted 
of theft, whose services, as the inscription bore, had been 
adjudged to a neighbouring baron, in lieu of the modern 
Scottish punishment, which, as Oldbuck said, sends such 
culprits to enrich England by their labour, and themselves 
by their dexterity. Many and various were the other 
curiosities which he showed ; but it was chiefly upon his 
books that he prided himself, repeating, with a compla- 
cent air, as he led the way to the crowded and dusty 
shelves, the verses of old Chaucer — 

For he would rather have, at his bed-head, 

A twenty books, clothed in black or red, 

Of Aristotle, or his pliilosopliy, 

Than robes rich, rebeck, or saltery." 

This pithy motto he delivered, shaking his head, and giv- 
ing each gutteral the true Anglo-Saxon enunciation, which 
is now forgotten in the southern parts of this reah .i. 

The collection was, indeed, a curious one, and might 
well be envied by an amateur. Yet it was not collected 
at the enormous prices of modern times, which are sufli- 

VOL. 1. 


30 


THE ANTK^ITART. 


cient to have appalled the most determined, as well as 
earliest bibliomaniac upon record, whom we take to have 
been none else than the renowned Don Quixote de la 
Mancha, as, among other slight indications of an infirm 
understanding, he is stated, by his veracious historian, Cid 
Hamet Benengeli, to have exchanged fields and farms 
for folios and quartos of chivalry. In this species ot 
exploit, the good knight-errant has been imitated by lords, 
knights, and squires of our own day, though we have not 
yet heard of any that has mistaken an inn for a castle, or 
laid his lance in rest against a wind-mill. Mr. Oldbuck 
did not follow these coHectors in such excess of expendi- 
ture ; but, taking a pleasure in the personal labour ol 
forming his library, saved his purse at the expense of his 
time and toil. He was no encourager of that ingenious 
race of peripatetic middle-men, who, trafficking between 
the obscure keeper of a stall and the eager amateur, 
make their profit at once of the ignorance of the former, 
and the dear-bought skill and taste of the latter. When 
such were mentioned in his hearing, he seldom failed to 
point out how necessary it was to arrest the object of 
your curiosity in its first transit, and to tell his favourite 
story of Snuffy Davy and Caxton’s Game at Chess. — 
“ Davy Wilson,” he said, “ commonly called Snuffy 
Davy, from his inveterate addiction to black rappee, was 
the very prince of scouts for searching blind alleys, cel- 
lars, and stalls, for rare volumes. He had the scent of 
a slow-hound, sir, and the snap of a bull-dog. He would 
detect you an old black-letter ballad among the leaves of 
a law-paper, and find an editio princeps under the mask 
of a school Corderius. Snuffy Davy bought the ‘ Game 
of Chess, 1474,’ the first book ever printed in England, 
from a stall in Holland, for about two groschen, or two- 
pence of our money. He sold it to Osborne for twenty 
pounds, and as many books as came to twenty pounds 
more. Osborne resold this inimitable windfall to Dr. As- 
kew for sixty guineas. At Dr. Askew’s sale,” continued 
die old gentleman, kindling as he spoke, “ this inestima- 
ble treasure blazed forth in its full value and was pur- 


THE ANTK^UART. 


51 


chased by royalty itself, for one hundred and seventj 
pounds ! Could a copy now occur, Lord only knows,’ 
he ejaculated, with a deep sigh and lifted-uj) hands 
“ Lord only knows what would he its ransom ; and yet it 
was originally secured by skill and research, for the easy 
equivalent of twopence sterling.^ Happy, thrice happy. 
Snuffy Davy ! and blessed were the times when thy 
industry could be so rewarded !” 

“ Even I, sir,” he went on, “ though far inferior in 
industry, and discernment, and presence of mind, to that 
great man, can show you a few, a very few things, which 
I have collected, not by force of money, as any wealthy 
man might, — although, as my friend Lucian says, he might 
chance to throw away his coin only to illustrate his igno- 
rance, — but gained in a manner that shows I know some- 
tliing of the matter. See this bundle of ballads, not one 
of them later than 1700, and some of them an hundred 
years older. I wheedled an old woman out of these, who 
loved them better than her psalm-book. Tobacco, sir, 
snuff, and the Complete Syren, were the equivalen. ! For 
that mutilated copy of the Complaynt of Scotland, I sat 
out the drinking of two dozen bottles of strong ale with 
the late learned proprietor, who, in gratitude, bequeathed 
it to me by his last will. These little Elzevirs are the 
memoranda and trophies of many a walk by night and 
morning through the Cowgate, the Canongate, the Bow, 
Saint Mary’s Wynd, — wherever, in fine, there were to be 
found brokers and trokers, those miscellaneous dealers in 
things rare and curious. How often have I stood hag- 
gling on a half-penny, lest, by a .oo ready acquiescence 
in the dealer’s first price, he should be led to suspect 
the value I set upon the article ! — how have I trembled, 
lest some passing stranger should chop in between me 
and the prize, and regarded each poor student of divinity 
that stopped to turn over the books at the stall, as a rival 
amateur, or prowling bookseller in disguise ! — And then, 
Mr. Lovel, the sly satisfaction with which one pays the 
consideration and pockets the article, affecting a cold in- 
difference while the hand is trembling with pleasure ! — 


32 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


Then to dazzle the eyes of our wealthier and emulous 
rivals by showing them such a treasure as this — (dis- 
playing a little black smoked book about the size of a 
primer) — to enjoy their surprise and envy, shrouding 
meanwhile, under a veil of mysterious consciousness, 
our own superior knowledge and dexterity — these, my 
young friend, these are the white moments of life, that 
repay the toil, and pains, and sedulous attention, which 
our profession, above all others, so peculiarly demands !’ 

Lovel was not a little amused at hearing the old gentle- 
man run on in this manner, and, however incapable of en- 
tering into the full merits of what he beheld, he admired, 
as much as could have been expected, the various treas- 
ures which Oldbuck exhibited. Here were editions 
esteemed as being the first, and there stood those scarce- 
ly less regarded as being the last and best ; here was a 
nook valued because it had the author’s final improve- 
ments, and there another which (strange to tell !) was in 
request because it had them not. One was precious 
because it was a folio, another because it was a duodeci- 
mo ; some because they were tall, some because they 
were short ; the merit of this lay in the title-page, of 
that in the arrangement of the letters in the word Finis. 
There was, it seemed, no peculiar distinction, how^ever 
trifling or minute, which might not give value to a volume, 
providing the indispensable quality of scarcity, or rare 
occurrence, was attached to it. 

Not the least fascinating was the original broadside — 
the Dying Speech, Bloody Murder, or Wonderful Won- 
der of Wonders, in its primary tattered guise, as it was 
hawked through* the streets, and sold for the cheap and 
easy price of one penny, though now wmrth the weight oi 
that penny in gold. On these, the Antiquary dilated with 
transport, and read, with a rapturous voice, the elaborate 
titles, which bore the same proportion to the contents tlia 
the painted signs without a showman’s booth do to the 
animals within. Mr. Oldbuck, for example, piqued birr* 
self especially in possessing an unique broadside, entitled 
md called ‘ Strange and wonderful News from Chipping- 


THE ANTI Q,U ART. 


33 


Norton, in the County of Oxon, of certain dreadful ap- 
paritions which were seen in the Air on the 26th of July 
1610, at Half an Hour after Nine o’Clock at Noon, and 
continued till Eleven, in which Time was seen Appearan- 
ces of several flaming Swords, strange Motions of the 
superior Orbs, with the unusual Sparkling of the Stars, 
with their dreadful Continuations : With the Account of 
the Opening of the Heavens, and strange Appearances 
therein disclosing themselves, with several other prodi- 
gious Circumstances not heard of in any Age, to the 
great Amazement of the Beholders, as it was communi- 
cated in a Letter to one Mr. Colley, living in West 
Smithfield, and attested by Thomas Brown, Elizabeth 
Greenaway, and Anne Gutheridge, who were Spectators 
of the dreadful Apparitions : And if any one would be 
further satished of the Truth of ijiis Relation, let them 
repair to Mr. Nightingale’s, at the Bear Inn, in West 
Smithfield, and they may be satisfied.’- 

“ You laugh at this,” said the proprietor of the collec- 
tion, “ and I forgive you. I do acknowledge that the 
charms on which we dote are not so obvious to the eyes 
of youth as those of a fair lady ; but you will grow wiser, 
and see more justly, when you come to wear spectacles. 
Yet stay, I have one piece of antiquity which you, per- 
haps, will prize more highly.” 

So saying, Mr. Old buck unlocked a drawer, and took 
out a bundle of keys, then pulled aside a piece of the 
tapestry which concealed the door of a small closet, into 
which he descended by four stone steps, and, after some 
tinkling among bottles and cans, produced two long-stalk- 
ed wine-glasses with bell mouths, such as are seen in 
Teniers’ pieces, and a small bottle of what he called rich 
racy canary, with a little bit of diet-cake, on a small 
silver server of exquisite old workmanship. ‘‘ I will say 
nothing of the server,” he remarked, though it is said 
to have been wrought by the old mad Florentine, Benve- 
nuto Cellini. But, Mr. Lovel, our ancestors drunk sack 
— vou, who admire the drama, know where that’s to 


34 


THE ANTiqUARY. 

be found. — ^Here’s success toycur exertions at Fairporl 
sir !” 

“ And to you, sir, and an ample increase to your treas- 
ure, with no more trouble on your part than is just neces- 
sary to make the acquisitions valuable.” 

After a libation so suitable to the amusement in which 
they had been engaged, Lovel rose to take his leave, and 
Mr. Oldbuck prepared to give him his company a part 
of the way, and show him something worthy of his 
curiosity on his return to Fairport. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The pawky auld carle cam ower the lea, 

Wi' mony g-ood-e’ens and good-morrows to me, 

Saying, Kind sir, for your courtesy, 

Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? 

The Gaberlunzie Man. 

Our two friends moved through a little orchard, where 
the aged apple-trees, well loaded with fruit, showed, as is 
usual in the neighbourhood of monastic buildings, that the 
days of the monks had not always been spent in indolence, 
but often dedicated to horticulture and gardening. Mr. 
Oldbuck failed not to make Lovel remark, that the plant- 
ers of those days were possessed of the modern secret 
of preventing the roots of the fruit-trees from penetrating 
the till, and compelling them to spread in a lateral direc- 
tion, by placing paving-stones beneath the trees when 
first planted, so as to interpose between their fibres and 
the subsoil. “ This old fellow,” he said, “ which was 
blown down last summer, and still, though half reclined 
on the ground, is covered witli fruit, has been, as you 
may see, accommodated with such a barrier between his 
roots and the unkindly till. That other tree has a story : 
the fruit is called the Abbot’s Apple ; the lady of a 
neighbouring baron was so fond of it, that she would often 


THE ANTI Q,U ART. 


35 


pay a visit to Monkbarns, to have tlie pleasure of gather* 
ing it from the tree. The husband, a jealous man belike 
suspected that a taste so nearly resembling that of Mother 
Eve prognosticated a similar fall. As the honour of a 
noble family is concerned, I will say no more on the 
subject, only that the lands of Lochard and Cringlecut 
still pay a fine of six bolls of barley annually, to atone the 
guilt of their audacious owner, who intruded himself and 
his worldly suspicions upon the seclusion of the Abbot 
and his penitent. Admire the little belfrey rising above 
the ivy -mantled porch — there was here a hospitium, 
hospiiale, or hospitamentum, (for it is written all these 
various ways in the old writings and evidents,) in which 
the monks received pilgrims — I know our minister has 
said, in the Statistical Account, that the hospitium was 
situated either on the lands of Haltweary, or upon those 
of Halfstarvet ; but he is incorrect, Mr. Lovel — that is 
the gate called still the Palmer’s Port, and my gardener 
found many hewn stones, when he was trenching the 
ground for winter cellery, several of which I have sent as 
specimens to my learned friends, and to the various anti- 
quarian societies of which I am an unwortliy member. 
But I will say no more at present ; I reserve something 
for another visit, and we have an object of real curiosity 
before us.” 

While he was thus speaking, he led the way briskly 
through one or two rich pasture meadows to an open 
heath or common, and so to the top of a gentle emi- 
nence. “ Here,” he said, “ Mr. Lovel, is a truly re- 
markable spot.” 

‘‘ It commands a fine view,” said his companion, 
looking around him. 

“ True : but it is not for the prospect I Drought you 
hither 5 do you see nothing else remarkable 9 — nothing 
on the surface of the ground 9” 

“ Why, yes ; I do see something like a ditch indis- 
tinctly marked.” 

“ Indistinctly ! — pardon me, sir, but the indistinctness 
must be in your powers of vision — nothing can be more 


36 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


plainly traced — a proper agger or vallum^ with its corres 
ponding ditch or fossa. Indistinctly ! why, heaven help 
you, the lassie, my niece, as liglit-headed a goose as 
womankind affords, saw the traces of the ditch at once 
Indistinct ! why, the great station at Ardoch, or that at 
Burnswark in Annandale, may be clearer, doubtless, 
because they are stative forts, whereas this was only an 
occasional encampment. Indistinct ! why, you must 
suppose that fools, boors, and idiots have ploughed up the 
land, and, like beasts and ignorant savages, have thereby, 
obliterated two sides of the square, and greatly injured 
the third ; but you see, yourself, the fourth side is quite 
entire !” 

Lovel endeavoured to apologize, and to explain away 
his ill-timed phrase, and pleaded his inexperience. But 
lie was not at once quite successful. His first expression 
had come too frankly and naturally not to alarm the 
Antiquary, and he could not easily get over the shock it 
had given him. 

‘‘ My dear sir,” continued the senior, “ your eyes are 
not inexperienced : you know a ditch from level ground, 
I presume, when you see them Indistinct ! why, the 
very common people, the very least boy that can herd a 
cow, calls it the Kaim of Kinprunes, and if that does 
not imply an ancient camp, I am ignorant what does.” 

Lovel having again acquiesced, and at length lulled to 
sleep the irritated and suspicious vanity of the Antiquary, 
he proceeded in his task of cicerone. ‘‘ You must 
know,” he said, “ our Scottish antiquaries have been 
greatly divided about the local situation of the final con- 
flict between Agricola and the Caledonians — some con- 
tend for Ardoch in Strathallan, some for Innerpefirey, 
some for the Raedykes in the Mearns, and some are for 
carrying the scene of action as far north as Blair in 
Athole.^ Now, after all this discussion,” continued the 
old gentleman, with one of his slyest and most compla- 
cent looks, “ what would you think, Mr. Lovel, — I say 
what would you think — if the memorable scene of con- 
flict should happen to be on the very spot called the Kaim 


THE ANTICtrARY. 


37 


of Kinprunes, the property of the obscure and humble 
individual who now speaks to you 9” — Then, having 
paused a little, to suffer his guest to digest a communi- 
cation so important, he resumed his disquisition in a 
higher tone. • “ Yes, my good friend, I am indeed great- 
ly deceived if this place does not correspond with all the 
marks of that celebrated place of action. It was near to 
the Grampian mountains — lo ! yonder they are, mixing 
and contending with the sky on the skirts of the horizon ! 
— it was in conspectu classis , — in sight of the Roman fleet ;• 
and would any admiral, Roman or British, wish a fairer 
bay to ride in than that on your right hand 9 It is aston- 
ishing how blind we professed antiquaries sometimes are ; 
Sir Robert Sibbald, Saunders Gordon, General Roy, Dr. 
Stukely, why, it escaped all of them. — I was unwilling to 
say a word about it till I had secured the ground, for it 
belonged to auld Johnnie Howie, a bonnet-laird^ hard 
by, and many a communing we ^ had before he and I 
could agree. At length — I am ali1^st.ashamed to say it 
— but I even brought my mind to give acre for acre of 
my good corn-land for this barreiii,spot. But then it was 
a national concern ; and when th^jgcene of so celebrated 
an event became my own 1 was ovl^jid. — Whose patri- 
otism would not grow w^armer, as old Johnson says, on 
the plains of Marathon I began to trench the ground, 
to see what might be discovered ; and the third day, 
sir, we found a stone, which I have transported to Monk- 
barns, in order to have the sculpture taken off with plaister 
of Paris j it bears a sacrificing vessel, and the letters 
A. D. L. L. which may stand, without much violence, 
for jigricola Dicavit Lihens Lubensy 

“ (iertainly, sir ; for the Dutc^ antiquaries claim Ca- 
ligula as the founder of a light-house, on the sole author- 
ity of the letters C. C. P. F., which they interpret 
Cairn Caligula Pharum Fecit P 
“ True, and it has ever been recorded as a sound ex- 
position. I see we shall make something of you even 
liefore you wear spectacles, notwithstanding you thought 
3 VOL. I. 


38 


THE ANTKtXJARY. 

the traces of this beautiful camp indistinct when you firs' 
observed them.” 

“ In time, sir, and by good instruction” — 

“ — You will become more apt — I doubt it not. You 
shall peruse, upon your next visit to Monkbarns, m;' 
trivial Essay upon Castrametation, with some particular 
Remarks upon the Vestiges of Ancient Fortifications late- 
ly discovered by the Author at the Kaim of Kinprunes. I 
think I have pointed out the infallible touchstone of sup- 
posed antiquity. I premise a few general rules on that 
point, on the nature, namely, of the evidence to be re- 
ceived in such cases. Meanwhile be pleased to observe, 
for example, that I could press into my service Claudian’s 
famous line, 

Caledoniis posuit qui castra pruinis.” 

For pruinis, though interpreted to mean hoar frosts, to 
which I own we are somewhat subject in this north-east- 
ern sea-coast, may also signify a locality, namely. Prunes ; 
the Castra Pruinis posit a wquld therefore be the Kaim 
of Kinprunes. But I waivp this ; for I am sensible it 
might be laid hold of by cavillers as carrying down my 
Castra to the time of Theodosius, sent by Valentinian 
into Britain as late as the year 367, or thereabout. No, my 
good friend, I appeal to people’s eye-sight — is not here 
the Decuman gate 9 and there, but ,far- the' ravage of 
the horrid plough, as ‘a learned friendycalls it, would be 
the Praetorian gate. — On the left hand you may see some 
slight vestiges of \he porta sinistra, on the right, one 
side of iho porta dextra well nigh entire — Here, then, let 
us take our stand, on this tumulus, exhibiting the foun- 
dation of ruined buildings, — the central point — the Prce- 
torium, doubtless, of the camp. From this place, now 
scarce to be distinguished, but by its slight elevation and 
its greener turf, from the rest of the fortification, we may 
suppose Agricola to have looked fortli on the immense 
army of Caledonians, occupying the declivities of yon 
opposite hill, the infantry rising rank over rank as the form 
of ground displayed their array to its utmost advantage ; 


THE ANTiq,UART. 


39 


the cavalry and covinarii, by wliich I understand the 
charioteers — another guise of folks from your Bond- 
street four-in-hand men, I trow — scouring the more leve 
space below — 

See, then, Level — see 

See that huge battle moving from the mountains. 

Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales ; — their march 
Like a rough tumbling storm— See them, and view them. 

And then see Rome no more 1 


\res, my dear friend, from this stance it is probable, — 
nay, it is nearly certain, that Julius Agricola beheld what 
our Beaumont has so admirably described ! — From this 
very Praetorium” 

A voice from behind interrupted his ecstatic descrip- 
don — “ Praetorian here. Praetorian there, I mind the big- 
ging o’t.” 

Both at once turned round, Lovel with surprise, and 
Old buck with mingled surprise and indignation, at so 
uncivil an interruption. An auditor had stolen upon 
them, unseen and unheard, amid the energy of the Anti- 
quary’s enthusiastic declamation, and the attentive civility 
of Lovel. He had the exterior appearance of a mendi- 
cant. A slouched hat of huge dimensions ; a long white 
beard, which mingled with his grizzled hair, an aged, but 
strongly marked and expressive countenance, hardened, 
by climate and exposure, to a right brick-dust complex- 
ion ; a long blue gown, with a pewter badge on the right 
arm ; two or three wallets, or bags, slung across his 
shouldei’, for holding the different kinds of meal, when 
he received his charity in kind from those who were but 
a degree richer than himself, — all these marked at once 
a beggar by profession, and one of that privileged class 
which are called in Scotland the King’s Bedes-men, or, 
vulgarly. Blue-gowns. 

“ What is that you say, Edie 9” said Oldbuck, hoping; 
perhaps, that his ears had betrayed their duty ; “ Whal 
were you speaking about 9” 


40 


THE ANTKiTJARY. 


About this bit bourock, your honour,” answered the 
undaunted Edie ; “ I mind the bigging o’t.” 

The devil you do ! Why, you old fool, it was here 
before you were born, and will be after you are hanged 
man !” 

“ Hanged or drowned, here or awa, dead or alive, I 
mind the bigging o’t.” 

“ You — you — you,” said the Antiquary, stammering 
between confusion and anger, “ you strolling old vaga- 
bond, what the devil do you know about it 9” 

“ Ou, I ken this about it, Monkbarns, and what profit 
have I for telling ye a lie — 1 just ken this about it, that 
about twenty years syne, I and a wheen hallenshakers 
like mysell, and the mason-lads that built the lang dyke 
that gaes down the loaning, and twa or three herds maybe, 
just set to wark, and built this hit thing here that ye ca’ 
the — the — Praetorian, and a’ just for a bield at auld Aiken 
Drum’s bridal, and a bit blithe gae-down we had in’t, 
some sair rainy weather. Mair by token, Monkbarns ; 
if ye howk up the bourock, as ye seem to have begun, 
ye’ll find, if ye hae not fund it already, a stane that ane 
o’ the mason -callants cut a ladle on to have a bourd at 
the bridegroom, and he put four letters on’t, that’s A. D. 
L. L. — Aiken Drum’s Lang Ladle — for Aiken was ane 
o’ the kale-suppers o’ Fife.” 

“ This,” thought Lovel to himself, “ is a famous coun- 
terpart to the story of Keip on this syde,^^ He then 
ventured to steal a glance at our Antiquary, but quickly 
withdrew it in sheer compassion. For, gentle reader, if 
thou hast ever beheld the visage of a damsel of sixteen, 
whose romance of true love has been blown up by an 
untimely discovery, or of a child of ten years, whose 
castle of cards has been blown down by a malicious com- 
panion, I can safely aver to you, that Jonathan Oldbuck ot 
IVIonkbarns, looked neither more wise nor less discon- 
certed. 

‘‘ There is some mistake about this,” he said, abruptly 
turning away from the mendicant. 


THE ANTKiUART. 


41 


*• Deil a bit on my side o’ the wa’,” answered the 
sturdy beggar ; “ I never deal in mistakes, they aye 
bring mischances. — Now, Monkbarns, that young gentle- 
man that’s wi’ your honour, thinks little of a carle like 
me, and yet. I’ll wager I’ll tell him whar he was yestreen 
at the gloamin, only he maybe wadna like to hae’t spoken 
o’ in company.” 

Level’s soul rushed to his cheeks with the vivid blush 
of two-and-twenty. 

“ Never mind the old rogue,” said Mr. Oldbuck, 
“ don’t suppose I think the worse of you for your profes- 
sion ; they are only prejudiced fools and coxcombs that do 
so. You remember what old Tully says in his oration, 
pro Archia poeta^ concerning one of your confraternity 
— (^uis nostrum tarn animo agresti ac duro fuit-ut-ut — 
I forget the Latin — the meaning is, which of us was 
so rude and barbarous as to remain unmoved at the death 
of the great Roscius, whose advanced age was so far 
from preparing us for his death, that we rather hoped one 
so graceful, so excellent in his art, ought to be exempted 
from the common lot of mortality.^ So the Prince of 
Orators spoke of the stage and its professors.” 

The words of the old man fell upon Lovel’s ears, but 
without conveying any precise idea to his mind, which was 
then occupied in thinking by what means the old beggar, 
who still continued to regard him with a countenance 
provokingly sly and intelligent, had contrived to thrust 
himself into any knowledge of his affairs. He put his 
hand in his pocket as the readiest mode of intimating his 
desire of secrecy, and securing the concurrence of the 
person whom he addressed ; and while he bestowed him 
an alms, the amount of which rather bore proportion to 
his fears than to his charity, looked at him with a marked 
expression, which the mendicant, a physiognomist by 
profession, seemed perfectly to understand. — “ Never 
mind me, sir, I am no tale-pyet ; but there are mair een 
in the world than mine,” answered he, as he pocketed 
Lovel’s bounty, but in a tone to be heard by him alone, 

VOL. I. 


42 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


and with an expression which amply filled up what was 
left unspoken. Then turning to Oldbuck — “ I am dwa’ 
to the manse, your honour. Has your honour ony word 
there, or to Sir Arthur, for I’ll come in by Knockwiniiock 
Castle again e’en 9” 

Oldhuck started as from a dream ; and, in a hurried 
tone, where vexation strove with a wish to conceal it^ 
paying, at the same time, a tribute to Edie’s smooth, 
greasy, unlined hat, he said, “ Go down, go down tc 
Moiikbarns — let them give you some dinner — or stay ; il 
you do go to the manse, or to Knockwinnock, ye need 
say nothing about that foolish story of yours.” 

“ Who, I ?” said the mendicant — “ Lord bless your 
honour, naebody sail ken a word about it frae me, mair 
than if the bit bourock had been there since Noah’s flood. 
But, Lord, they tell me your honour has gien Johnnie 
Howie acre for acre of the laigh crofts for this heathery 
knowe ! Now, if he has really imposed the bourock on ye 
for an ancient wark, it’s my real opinion the bargain will 
never baud gude, if you would just bring down your heart 
to try it at the law, and say that he beguiled ye.” 

“ Provoking scoundrel,” muttered the indignant Anti- 
quary between his teeth, — I’ll have the hangman’s lash 
and his back acquainted for this !” — and then in a louder 
cone, — “ Never mind, Edie — it is all a mistake.” 

“ Troth, I am thinking sae,” continued his tormentor, 
who seemed to have pleasure in rubbing the galled wound, 

troth, I aye thought sae ; and it’s no sae lang since I said 
to Luckie Gemmels, ‘ Never think you, Luckie,’ said I, 
‘ that his honour, Monkbarns, would hae done sic a daft- 
like thing, as to gie grund weel worth fifty shillings an 
acre, for a mailing that would be dear o’ a pund Scots. 
Na, na,’ quo’ I, ‘ depend upon’t the laird’s been imposed 
upon wi’ that wily do-little deevil Johnnie Howie.’ ‘ But 
^ Lord baud a care o’ us, sirs, how can that be,’ quo’ she 
again, ‘ when the laird’s sae book-learned, there’s no the 
like o’ him in the country side, and Johnnie Howie has 
hardly sense eneugh to ca’ the cows out o’ his kale-yard V 
‘ Aweel, aweel,’ quo’ I, ‘ but ye’ll hear he’s circumvented 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


43 


him with some of his auld-warld stories,’ — for ye ken, 
laird, yon other time about the bodle that ye thought was 
an auld coin” 

Go to the devil !” said Oldbuck ; and then in a 
more mild tone, as one that was conscious his reputation 
lay at the mercy of his antagonist, he added — “ Away 
with you down to Monkbarns, and wdien I come back. I’ll 
send ye a bottle of ale to the kitchen.” 

“ Heaven reward your honour !” This was uttered 
with the true mendicant whine, as, setting his pike-stafi 
before him, he began to move in the direction of JMonk- 
barns — “ But did your honour,” turning round, “ ever 
get back the siller ye gae to the travelling packman for 
die bodle T’ 

Curse thee, go about thy business !” 

Aweel, aweel, sir, God bless your honour ! — I hope 
ye’ll ding Johnnie Howie yet, and that I’ll live to see it.” 
And so saying, the old beggar moved off, relieving Mr. 
Oldbuck of recollections which were anything rather than 
agreeable. 

‘‘ Who is this familiar old gentleman said Lovel, 
when the mendicant was out of hearing. 

O, one of the plagues of the country — I have been 
always against poor’s-rates and a work-house — I think I’ll 
vote for them now, to have that scoundrel shut up. O, 
your old-remembered guest of a beggar becomes as well 
acquainted with you as he is with his dish — as intimate as 
one of the beasts familiar to man which signify love, and 
with which his own trade is especially conversant. Who 
is he 9 — why, he has gone the vole — has been soldier, bal- 
lad-singer, travelling tinker, and is now a beggar. He is 
spoiled by our foolish gentry, who laugh at his jokes, and 
rehearse Edie Ochiltree’s good things as regularly as Joe 
Miller’s.” 

“ Why, he uses freedom apparently, which is the soul 
of wit,” answered Lovel. 

“ O ay, freedom enough,” said the Antiquary ; “ he 
generally invents some damned improbable lie or another 
.0 provoke you, like that nonsense he talked just uovi — 


44 


THE ANTiqUAHY. 


not that I’ll publish my tract till I have examined the thing 
to the bottom.” 

“ In England,” said Lovel, “ such a mendicant would 
get a speedy check.” 

“ Yes, your church-w’ardens and dog-whips would make 
slender allowance for his vein of humour! But here, 
curse him, he is a sort of privileged nuisance — one oi 
the last specimens of the old-fashioned Scottish mendi- 
cant, who kept his rounds within a particular space, and 
was the news-carrier, the minstrel, and sometimes the 
historian of the district. That rascal, now, knows more 
old ballads and traditions than any other man in this and 
the four next parishes. And after all,” continued he, 
softening as he went on describing Edie’s good gifts, the 
dog has some good-humour. He has borne his hard fate 
with unbroken spirits, and it’s cruel to deny him the com- 
fort of a laugh at his betters. The pleasure of having 
quizzed me, as you gay folk would call it, will be meat 
and drink to him for a day or two. But I must go back 
and look after him, or he will spread his d — d nonsensical 
siuij over half the country.” 

So saying, our heroes parted, Mr. Oldbuck to return 
to his hospitium at Monkbarns, and Lovel to pursue his 
way to F airport, where he arrived without farther adven- 
ture. 


CHAPTER V. 


Launcelot Gohbo. Mark me now ; Now will I raise the waters. 

Merchant of Venice. 

The theatre at Fairport had opened, but no IMr. Lovel 
appeared on the boards, nor was there anything in the 
liabits or deportment of the young gentleman so named, 
which authorized Mr. Oldbuck’s conjecture that his fel- 
low-tiaveller was a candidate for the public favour. 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


45 


Regular were the Antiquary’s inquiries at an old-fashioned 
barber who dressed the only three wigs in the parish, 
which, in defiance of taxes and times, were still subject- 
ed to the operation of powdering and frizzling, and who, 
for that purpose, divided his time among the three em- 
ployers whom fashion had yet left him — regular, I say, 
were Mr. Oldbuck’s inquiries at this personage concern- 
ing the news of the little theatre at Fairport, expecting 
every day to hear of Mr. Lovel’s appearance ; on which 
occasion the old gentleman had determined to put him- 
self to charges in honour of his young friend, and not 
only to go to the play himself, but to carry his woman- 
kind along with him. But old Jacob Caxon conveyed no 
information which warranted his taking so decisive a step 
as that of securing a box. 

He brought information, on the contrary, that there was 
a young man residing at F airport, of whom the toivn (by 
winch he meant all the gossips, who, having no business 
of their own, fill up their leisure moments by attending to 
that of other people) could make nothing. He sought no 
society, but rather avoided that, which the apparent gen- 
tleness of his manners, and some degree of curiosity, in- 
duced many to offer him. Nothing could be more regu- 
lar, or less resembling an adventurer, than his mode of 
living, which was simple, but so completely well arranged, 
that all who had any transactions with him were loud in 
their approbation. 

“ These are not the virtues a stage-struck hero,’' 
thought Oldbuck to himself ; and, however habitually 
pertinacious in his opinions, he must have been compelled 
to abandon that which he had formed in the present in- 
stance, but for a part of Caxon’s communication. 
“ The young gentleman,” he said, “ was sometimes heard 
speaking to himsell, and rampauging about /n his room, 
<ust as if he w^as ane o’ the player folk.” 

Nothing, however, excepting this single circumstance, 
occurred to confirm Mr. Oldbuck’s supposition, and^ it 
fomained a high and doubtful question, what a well-in- 
rermed young man without friends, connexions, or em- 


46 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


ployrnent of any kind, could have to do^ as a resident al 
Fairport. Neither port wine nor whist had apparently 
any charms for him. He declined dining with the mess 
of the volunteer cohort which had been lately embodied, 
and shunned joining the convivialities of either of the 
two parties which then divided Fairport, as they did more 
important places. He was too little of an aristocrat to 
join the club of Royal True Blues, and too little of a 
democrat to fraternize with an affiliated society of the soi 
disant Friends of the People, which the borough had 
also the happiness of possessing. A coffee-room was 
his detestation ; and, 1 grieve to say it, he had as few 
sympathies with the tea-table. In short, since the name 
was fashionable in novel-writing, and that is a great while 
agone, there was never a Master Lovel of whom so little 
positive was known, and who was so universally describ- 
ed by negatives. 

One negative, however, was important — nobody knew 
any harm of Lovel. Indeed, had such existed, it would 
have been speedily made public, for the natural desire of 
speaking evil of our neighbour could in his case have 
been checked by no feelings of sympathy for a being so 
unsocial. On one account alone he fell somewhat un- 
der suspicion. As he made free use of his pencil in his 
solitary walks, and had drawn several views of the har- 
bour, in which the signal-tower, and even the four-gun bat- 
tery, were introduced, some jealous friends of the public 
sent abroad a whisper, that this mysterious stranger must 
certainly be a French spy. The Sheriff paid his respects 
to Mr. Lovel accordingly, but in the interview which 
followed, it would seem that he had entirely removed that 
magistrate’s suspicions, since he not only suffered him to 
remain undisturbed in his retirement, but, it was credibly 
reported, sent him two invitations to dinner-parties, bolli 
which wore civilly declined. But what the nature of the 
explanation was, the magistrate kept a profound secret, 
not only from tl e public at large, but from his substitute, 
his clerk, his wife, and his two daughters, who formed his 
urivy council on all questions of official duty. 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


47 


All these particulars being faithfully reported by Mr 
Caxon to his patron at IMonkbarns, tended much to raise 
Lovel in the opinion of his former fellow-traveller. “ A 
decent sensible lad,” said he to himself, “ who scorns to 
enter into the fooleries and nonsense of these idiot people 
at Fairport. — I must do something for him — I must give 
him a dinner — and I will write Sir Arthur to come to 
Monkbarns to meet him — I must consult my womankind.” 

Accordingly, such consultation having been previously 
held, a special messenger, being no other than Caxon him« 
self, was ordered to prepare for a walk to Knockwinnock 
Castle with a letter, “ For the honoured Sir Arthur 
VVardour, of Knockwinnock, Bart.” The contents ran 
thus : 


‘‘ Dear Sir Arthur, 

“ On Tuesday, the 17th curt, stilo novo, I hold a cae- 
nobitical symposion at ^lonkbarns, and pray you to assist 
thereat, at four o’clock precisely. If my fair enemy. 
Miss Isabel, can and will honour us by accompanying you, 
my womankind will be but too proud to have the aid of 
such an auxiliary in the cause of resistance to awful rule 
and right supremacy. If not, I will send the womankind 
to tlie manse for the day. I have a young acquaintance 
to make known to you, who is touched with some strain 
of a better spirit than belongs to these giddy-paced times 
— reveres his elders, and has a pretty notion of the clas- 
sics — and, as such a youth must have a natural contempt 
for the people about Fairport, I wish to show him some ra- 
tional as well as worshipful society. I am, dear Sir 
Arthur, &lc. &c. &ic.” 

“ Fly with this letter, Caxon,” stii i the senior, holding 
out his missive, signatum atque sigillatum, ‘‘ fly to 
Knockwinnock, and bring me back an answer. Go as 
fast as if the town-council were met, and waiting for the 
provost, and the provost was waiting for his new-powder,-' 
cd wig.” 

“ Ah ! sir,” answered the messenger with a deep sigh, 
‘ thae days liae lang gane by; Deil a wig has a pro- 


48 


THE ANTIQ,UART« 


vest of Fairport worn sin’ auld Provost Jervie’s time— 
and he had a quean of a servant-lass that dressed n 
hersell, wi’ the doup o’ a candle and a drudging-box. 
But 1 hae seen the day, Monkbarns, when the town- 
council of F airport wad hae as soon wanted their town • 
clerk, or tlieir gill o’ brandy ower-head after the baddies, 
as they wad hae wanted ilk ane a weel-favoured, sonsy, 
decent periwig on his pow. Hegh, sirs ! nae wonder tlio 
commons will be discontent and rise against the law, when 
they see magistrates, and baillies, and deacons, and the 
provost himsell, wi’ heads as bald and as bare as ane o’ 
my blocks.” 

“ Anjd as well furnished within, Caxon. But away with 
you — you have an excellent view of public affairs, and, 1 
dare say, have touched the cause of our popular discontent 
as closely as the provost could have done himself. But 
away with you, Caxon.” 

And off went Caxon upon his walk of three miles — 


‘‘ He hobbled — but his heart was good ; 

Could he go faster than he could 

While he is engaged in his journey and return, it may 
not be impertinent to inform the reader to whose mansion 
he was bearing his embassy. 

We have said that Mr. Oldbuck kept little company 
with the surrounding gentlemen, excepting with one per- 
son only. This was Sir Arthur Wardour, a baronet of 
ancient descent, and of a large but embarrassed fortune. 
His father. Sir Anthony, had been a Jacobite, and had 
displayed all the enthusiasm of that party, while it could 
be served with words only. No man squeezed the orange 
with more significant gesture ; no one could more dexter- 
ously intimate a dangerous health without coming under 
the penal statutes ; and, above all, none drank success to 
the cause more deeply and devoutly. But, on the 
approach of the Highland army in 1745, it would appear 
that the worthy baronet’s zeal became a little more mode- 
rate just when its warmth was of most consequence. He 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


49 


talked much, indeed, of taking the field for the rights of 
Scotland and Charles Stuart, but his demi-pique saddle 
would suit only one of his horses, and that horse could by 
no means be brought to stand fire. Perhaps the worship- 
lul owner sympatliized in the scruples of this sagacious 
quadruped, and began to think, that what was so much 
dreaded by the horse could not be very wholesome for 
tlie rider. At any rate, while Sir Anthony Wardour talk- 
ed, and drank, and hesitated, the sturdy provost of Fair- 
port (who, as we before noticed, was the father of our 
Antiquary) sallied from his ancient burgh, heading a body 
of whig-burghers, and seized at once, in the name of 
George II., upon the castle of Knockwinnock, and on 
the four carriage-horses, and person of the proprietor. 
Sir Anthony was shortly after sent off to the Tower of 
London by a secretary of state’s warrant, and with him 
went his son, Arthur, then a youth. But as nothing ap- 
peared like an overt act of treason, both father and son 
were soon set at liberty, and returned to their own man- 
sion of Knockwinnock, to drink healths five fathoms 
deep, and talk of their sufferings in the royal cause. 
This became so much a matter of habit with Sir Arthur, 
that even after his father’s death, the non-juring chaplain 
used to pray regularly for the restoration of the rightful 
sovereign, for the downfall of the usurper, and for deliv- 
erance from their cruel and blood-thirsty enemies, al- 
though all idea of serious opposition to the house ot 
Hanover had long mouldered away ; and this treasonable 
liturgy was kept up rather as a matter of form than as con- 
veying any distinct meaning. So much was this the case, 
that, about the year 1770, upon a disputed election oc- 
curring in the county, the worthy knight fairly gulped 
down the oaths of abjuration and allegiance, in order to 
serve a candidate in whom he was interested ; — thus re- 
nouncing the heir for whose restoration he weekly peti- 
tioned Heaven, and acknowledging the usurper whose 
dethronement he had never ceased to pray for. And 
to add to this melancholy instance of human inconsisten- 

VOL. I. 


60 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


cy, Sir Arthur continued to pray for the house of Stuarl 
even after the family had been extinct, and when, in 
truth, though in his theoretical loyalty he was pleased to 
regard them as alive, yet, in all actual service and practi- 
cal exertion, he was a most zealous and devoted subject 
of George III. 

In other respects. Sir Arthur Wardour lived like most 
country gentleman in Scctland — hunted and fished — gave 
and received dinners — attended races and county meet- 
ings — was a deputy-lieutenant and trustee upon turnpike 
acts. But, in his more advanced years, as he became 
too lazy or unwieldy for field-sports, he supplied them 
by now and then reading Scottish history ; and, having 
gradually acquired a taste for antiquities, though neither 
very deep nor very correct, he became a crony of his 
neighbour, Mr. Oldbuck, of Monkbarns, and a joint- 
labourer with him in his antiquarian pursuits. 

There were, however, points of difference between 
these two humourists, which sometimes occasioned dis- 
cord. The faith of Sir Arthur, as an antiquary, was 
boundless, and Mr. Oldbuck (notwithstanding the affair 
of the PraBtorium at the Kaim of Kinprimes) was much 
more scrupulous in receiving legends as current and au- 
thentic coin. Sir Arthur would have deemed himself 
guilty of the crime of leze-majesty, had he doubted the 
existence of any single individual of that formidable 
bead-roll of one hundred and four kings of Scotland, re- 
ceived by Boethius, and rendered classical by Buchanan, 
in virtue of whom James VI. claimed to rule his ancient 
kingdom, and whose portraits still frown grimly upon the 
walls of the gallery of Holyrood. Now Oldbuck, a 
shrewd and suspicious man, and no respecter of divine 
hereditary right, was apt to cavil at this sacred list, and 
to affirm, tliat the procession of the posterity of Fergus 
through the pages of Scottish history, was as vain and 
unsubstantial as the gleamy pageant of the descendants 
of Banquo through the cavern of Hecate. 

Another tender topic, was the good fame of Queen 
Mary, of which the knight was a most chivalrous asser 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


51 


jor, while the esquire impugned it, in spite both oftie** beau- 
ty and misfortunes. When, unhappily, their conversation 
turned on yet later times, motives of discord occurred in 
almost every page of history. Oldbuck was upon principle 
a stanch presbyterian, a ruling elder of the kirk, and a 
friend to rev'olution principles and Protestant succession, 
while Sir Arthur was the very reverse of all this. They 
agreed, it is true, in dutiful love and allegiance to the 
sovereign who now fills'^ the throne, but this was their only 
point of union. It therefore often happened, that bicker- 
ings hot broke out between them, in which Oldbuck was 
not always able to suj)press his caustic liumour, while it 
would sometimes occur to the baronet, that the descend- 
ant of a German printer, whose sires had “ sought the 
base fellowship of paltry burghers,” forgot himself, and 
took an unlicensed freedom of debate, considering the 
rank and ancient descent of his antagonist. This, with 
the old feud of the coach-horses, and the seizure of his 
manor-place and tower of strength by Mr. Oldbuck’s father, 
would at times rush upon his mind, and inflame at once his 
(iheeks and his arguments. And, lastly, as Mr. Oldbuck 
thought his worthy friend and compeer was, in some re- 
spects, little better than a fool, he was apt to come more 
near communicating to him that unfavourable opinion, than 
the rules of modern politeness warrant. In such cases, 
they often parted in deep dudgeon, and with something 
like a resolution to forbear each other’s company in 
future : 

But with the morning calm reflection came ; 

and as each was sensible that the society of the other 
had become, flirough habit, essential to his comfort, the 
breach was speedily made up between them. On such 
Dccasions, Oldbuck, considering that the Baronet’s pettish- 
ness resembled that of a child, usually showed his superior 
sense by compassionately making the first advances to re- 
conciliation. But it once or twice happened, that the 
aristocratic pride of the far-descended knight took a 
flight too offensive to the feelings of the representative 


52 


THE AXTIQ,UARY. 


of the typographer. In these cases, tlie breach between 
these two originals might have been immortal, but for the 
kind exertions and interposition of the baronet’s daugh- 
ter, Miss Isabella Wardour, who, with a son, now absent 
upon foreign and military service, formed his whole sur- 
viving family. She was well aware how necessary Mr. 
Oldbuck was to her father’s amusement and comfort, and 
seldom failed to interpose with effect, when the office of 
a mediator between them was rendered necessary, by 
the satirical shrewdness of the one, or the assumed su- 
periority of the other. Under Isabella’s mild influence, 
the wrongs of Queen Mary were forgotten by her father, 
and Mr. Oldbuck forgave the blasphemy which reviled 
the memory of King William. However, as she used 
in general to take her father’s part playfully in these dis- 
putes, Oldbuck was wont to call Isabella his fair enemy, 
though in fact he made more account of her than any 
other of her sex, of whom, as we have seen, he was 
no admirer. 

There existed another connexion betwixt these w^or- 
thies, which had alternately a repelling and attractive 
influence upon their intimacy. Sir Arthur always wished 
to borrow ; Mr. Oldbuck was not always willing to lend 
Mr. Oldbuck, per contra, always wished to be repaid 
with regularity ; Sir Arthur was not always, nor indeer- 
often, prepared to gratify this reasonable desire ; and, in 
accomplishing an arrangement between tendencies so op- 
posite, little miffs would occasionally take place. Still 
there was a spirit of mutual accommodation upon the 
whole, and they dragged on like dogs in couples, with 
some difficulty and occasional snarling, but without abso- 
lutely coming to a stand-still or throttling each other. 

Some little disagreement, such as we have mentioned, 
arising out of business, or politics, had divided the houses 
of Knockwinnock and Monkbarns, when the emissary of 
the latter arrived to discharge his errand. In his ancient 
Gothic parlour, whose windows on one side looked out 
upon the restless ocean, and, on the other, upon the long 
straight avenue, was the baronet seated, now turning over 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


53 


the leaves of a folio, now casting a weary glance where 
the sun quivered on the dark-green foliage and smooth 
trunks of the large and branching limes, with which the 
avenue was planted. At length, sight of joy ! a moving 
object is seen, and it gives rise to the usual inquiries. 
Who is it and what can be his errand 9 The old 
whitish grey coat, the hobbling gait, the hat, half-slouch- 
ed, half-cocked, announced the forlorn maker of peri- 
wigs, and left for investigation only the second query. 
This was soon solved by a servant entering the parlour, 
— “ A letter from Monkbarns, Sir Arthur.” 

Sir Arthur took the epistle with a -due assumption of 
consequential dignity. 

“ Take the old man into the kitchen, and let him get 
some refreshment,” said the young lady, whose com- 
passionate eye had remarked his thin grey hair and wea- 
ried gait. 

“ Mr. Oldbuck, my love, invites us to dinner on 
Tuesday, the 17th,” said the baronet, pausing; “he 
really seems to forget that he has not of late conducted 
himself so civilly towards me as might have been expect- 
ed.” 

“ Dear sir, you have so many advantages over poor 
Mr. Oldbuck, that no wonder it should put him a little 
out of humour ; but I know he has much respect for your 
person and your conversation ; nothing would give him 
more pain than to be wanting in any real attention.” 

“ True, true, Isabella ; and one must allow for the 
original descent : something of the German boorishness 
still flows in the blood ; something of the whiggish and 
perverse opposition to established rank and privilege. 
You may observe that he never has any advantage of me 
in dispute, unless when he avails himself of a sort of 
pettifogging intimacy with dates, names, and trifling mat- 
ters of fact, a tiresome and frivolous accuracy of memory, 
which is entirely owing to his mechanical descent.” 

“ He must find it convenient in historical investigation, 
I should think, sirT’ said the young lady. 

VOL. I. 


54 


THE ANTKtlTARY. 


‘‘ It leads to an uncivil and positive mode of disputing , 
and nothing seems more unreasonable than to hear him 
impugn even Bellenden’s rare translation of Hector 
Boece, which I have the satisfaction to possess, and which 
is a black-letter folio of great value, upon the authority 
of some old scrap of parchment which he has saved from 
its deserved destiny of being cut up into tailors’ meas- 
ures. And, besides, that habit of minute and trouble- 
some accuracy leads to a mercantile manner of doing 
business, which ought to be beneath a landed proprietor, 
whose family has stood two or three generations — I ques- 
tion if there’s a dealer’s clerk in Fairport that can sum 
an account of interest better than Monkbarns.” 

“ But you’ll accept his invitation, sir *?” 

Why, ye — yes ; we have no other engagement on 
hand, I think. Who can the young man be he talks of 
he seldom picks up new acquaintance ; and he has no 
relation that I ever heard of.” 

“ Probably some relation of his brother-in-law. Cap- 
tain M’lntyre.” 

“ Very possibly ; yes, we will accept ; the M’Intyres 
are of a very ancient Highland family. You may answer 
his card in the affirmative, Isabella ; I believe I have no 
leisure to be Dear Siring myself.” 

So this important matter being adjusted. Miss Wardour 
intimated “ her own and Sir Arthur’s compliments, and 
that they would have the honour of waiting upon Mr. 
Oldbuck. Miss Wardour takes this opportunity to renew 
her hostility witli Mr. Oldbuck, on account of his late 
long absence from Knockwinnock, where his visits give so 
much pleasure.” With \[\is placebo she concluded her 
note, with which old Caxon, now refreshed in hmbs and 
wind, set out on his return to tlie Antiquary’s mansion. 


THK ANTiq,irART. 


55 


CHAPTER VI. 


Moth. By Woden, God of Saxons, 

I'Vom whence comes Wensday ; tliat is Wednesday, 
Truth is a thing that I will ever keep 
Unto thylke day in which I creep into 
My sepulcre 

CariwriglU's Ordinary. 


OrR young friend, Lovel, who had received a corres- 
ponding invitation, punctual to the hour of appointment, 
arrived atMonkbarns about five minutes before four o’clock 
on the 17th of July. The day had been remarkably 
sultry, and large drops of rain had occasionally fallen, 
though the threatened showers had as yet passed away. 

Mr. Oldbuck received him at the Palmer’s-port, in his 
complete brown suit, grey silk stockings, and wig pow- 
dered with all the skill of the veteran Caxon, who, having 
snftlt out the dinner, had taken care not to finish his job 
till the hour of eating approached. 

You are welcome to my symposion, Mr. Lovel ; 
and now let me introduce you to my Cldgdogdo’s, as 
Tom Otter calls them ; my unlucky and good-for-nothing 
womankind — malce hestice, Mr. Lovel.” 

“ 1 shall be disappointed, sir, if I do not find the ladies 
very undeserving of your satire.” 

“ Tilley-valley, Mr. Lovel, — which, by the way, one 
commentator derives from titivillitium, and another from 
talley-ho — but tilley-valley, I say, a truce with your po- 
liteness. You will find them but samples of womankind 
— But here they be, Mr. Lovel. I present to you, in 
due order, my most discreet sister Griselda, who disdains 
the simplicity, as well as patience, annexed to the poor old 
name of Grizzel ; and my most exquisite niece Marin, 
whose mother was called JMary, and sometimes Molly.” 


56 


THE ANTiqrART. 


The elderly lady rustled in silks and satins, and bore 
upon her head a structure resembling the fashion in the 
ladies’ memorandum-book for the year 1770 — a superb 
piece of architecture — not much less than a modern 
Gothic castle, of which the curls might represent the 
turrets, the black pins the chevaux defrize, and the lap- 
pets the banners. The face, which, like that of the 
ancient statues of Vesta, was thus crowned with towers, 
was large and long, and peaked at nose and chin, and 
bore, in other respects, such a ludicrous resemblance to 
the physiognomy of Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck, that Lovel, 
had they not appeared at once, like Sebastian and Viola 
in the last scene of the ‘ Twelfth Night,’ might have sup- 
posed that the figure before him was his old friend mas- 
querading in female attire. An antique flowered silk 
gown graced the extraordinary person to whom belonged 
this unparalleled tete, which her brother was wont to say 
was fitter for a turband for Mahound or Termagant, than 
a head-gear for a reasonable creature, or Christian gen- 
tlewoman. Two long and bony arms were terminated at 
the elbows by triple blond ruffles, and, being folded sal- 
tire-ways in front of her person, and decorated with lo^g 
gloves of a bright vermilion colour, presented no bad re- 
semblance to a pair of gigantic lobsters. High-heeled 
shoes, and a short silk cloak, thrown in easy negligence 
over her shoulders, completed the exterior of Miss Gris- 
elda Oldbuck. 

Her niece, the same whom Lovel had seen transiently 
during his first visit, was a pretty young woman, genteely 
dressed ac(jording to the fashion of the day, with an air 
of espieglcrie which became her very well, and which 
was perhaps derived from the caustic humour peculiar to 
her incle’s family, though softened by transmission. 

Blr. Lovel paid his respects to both ladies, and was 
answered by the elder with the prolonged curtsey of 
1760, drawn from the righteous period. 

When folks conceived a grace 
Of half an hour’s space, 

And rejoiced !u a Friday’s capon, 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


57 


and by the younger with a modern reverence, which, 
like the festive benediction of a modern divine, was oi 
much shorter duration. 

While this salutation was exchanging, Sir Arthur, with 
his fair daughter hanging upon his arm, having dismissed 
his chariot, appeared at the garden door, and in all due 
form paid his respects to the ladies. 

“ Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “ and you, my fair 
foe, let me make known to you my young friend Mr. 
Lovel, a gentleman who, during the scarlet-fever which 
is epidemic at present in this our island, has the virtue 
and decency to appear in a coat of a civil complexion. 
You see, however, that the fashionable colour has muster- 
ed in his cheeks which appears not in his garments. Sir 
Arthur, let me present to you a- young gentleman whom 
vour farther knowledge will find grave, wise, courtly, and 
scholar-like, well seen, deeply read, and thoroughly 
grounded in all the hidden mysteries of the green-room 
and stage, from the days of Davie Lindsay down to those 
of Dibdin — he blushes again, which is a sign of grace.” 

‘‘ My brother,” said Miss Griselda, addressing Lovel, 
“ has a humourous way of expressing himself, sir ; no- 
body thinks anything of what Monkbarns says — so I beg 
you will not be so confused for the matter of his nonsense ; 
but you must have had a warm walk beneath this broiling 
sun — would you take onything 9 — a glass of balm wine V 

Ere Lovel could answer, the Antiquary interposed. 
“ Aroint thee, witch ! wouldst thou poison my guests with 
thy infernal decoctions Dost thou not remember how 
it fared with the clergyman whom you seduced to partake 
of that deceitful beverage 

‘‘ O fy, fy, brother — Sir Arthur, did you ever hear 
the like ! — he must have every thing his ain way, or he 

will invent such stories But there goes Jenny to ring 

the old bell to tell us that the dinner is ready.” 

Rigid in his economy, Mr. Oldbuck kept no male 
servant. This he disguised under the pretext that the 
masculine sex was too noble to be employed in those acts 
of personal servitude, wdiich, in all early periods of so- 


68 


THE ANTiqUART. 


ciety, were uniformly imposed on the female. “ Wliy, ' 
would he say, “ did the boy, Tam Rintherout, whom, a1 
my wise sister’s instigation, I, with equal wisdom, took 
upon trial — why did he pilfer apples, take birds’ nests, 
break glasses, and ultimately steal my spectacles, except 
that he felt that noble emulation which swells in the bosom 
of the masculine sex, which has conducted him to Flan- 
ders with a musket on his shoulder, and doubtless w;^' 
promote him to a glorious halbert, or even to the ga 
lows 9 And why does this girl, his full sister, Jenny Rii 
therout, move in the same vocation with safe and noise 
less step — shod, or unshod, — soft as the pace of a cat 
and docile as a spaniel — Why but because she is in hej 

vocation. Let them minister to us. Sir Arthur, — le^ 
them minister, I say, — it’s the only thing they are fit for 
All ancient legislators, from Lycurgus to Mahomnied, 
corruptly called Mahomet, agree in putting them in their 
proper and subordinate rank, and it is only the crazy 
heads of our old chivalrous ancestors that erected their 
Dulcineas into despotic princesses.” 

IMiss Wardour protested loudly against this ungallant 
doctrine ; but the bell now rung for dinner. 

“ Let me do all the offices of fair courtesy to so fair an 
antagonist,” said the old gentleman, offering his arm. “ 1 
remember,' Miss Wardour, Mahommed (vulgarly Ma- 
homet) had some hesitation about the mode of summon- 
ing his Moslemah to prayer. He rejected bells as used 
by Christians, trumpets as the summons of the Guebres, 
and finally adopted the human voice. I have had equal 
doubt concerning my dinner-call. Gongs, now in present 
use, seemed a new-fangled and heathenish invention, and 
the voice of the female womankind I rejected as equally 
shrill and dissonant ; wherefore, contrary to the said ]Ma- 
hommed, or Mahomet, I have resumed the bell. It has 
a local propriety, since it was the conventual signal for 
spreading the repast in their refectory, and it has the ad- 
vantage over the tongue of my sister’s prime minister, 
Jenny, that, though not quite so loud and shrill, it ceases 
ringing the instant you drop the bell-rope ; whereas we 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


59 


know, by sad experience, that any attempt <o silence 
Jenny, only wakes the sympathetic chime of ]\Iiss Old- 
buck and Mary M’Intyre to join in chorus.” 

With this discourse he led the way to his dining parlour 
which Lovel had not yet seen ; it was wainscotted, and 
contained some curious paintings. The dining-table was 
attended by Jenny ; but an old superintendant, a sort of 
female butler, stood by the side-board, and underwent 
the burden of bearing several reproofs from Mr. Oldbuck, 
and innuendos, not so much marked, but not less cutting, 
from his sister. 

The dinner was such as suited a professed antiquary, 
comprehending many savoury specimens of Scottish 
viands, now disused at the tables of those who adect ele- 
gance. There was the relishing Solan goos-e, whose 
smell is so powerful that he is never cooked within doors. 
Blood-raw he proved to be on this occasion, so that Old- 
buck half-threatened to throw the greasy sea-fowl at the 
head of the negligent housekeeper, who acted as priest- 
ess in presenting this odoriferous offering. But, by good- 
hap, she had been most fortunate in the hotch-potch, 
which was unanimously pronounced to be inimitable. “ I 
knew we should succeed here,” said Oldbuck exultingly, 
for Davie Dibble, the gardener, (an old bachelor like 
myself) takes care the rascally women do not dishonour 
our vegetables. And here is fish and sauce, and crappit- 
heads — I acknowledge our womankind excel in that dish 
— it procures them the pleasure of scolding, for half an 
hour at least, twice a-week, with auld Meggy Muckle- 
backit, our fish-wife. The chicken-pie, Mr. Lovel, is 
made after a recipe bequeathed to me by my departed 
giandmother of happy memory — And if you will venture 
on a glass of wine, you will find it worthy of one who 
professes the maxim of King Alphonso of Castile — Old 
wood to burn — old books to read — old wine to drink — 
and old friends. Sir Arthur — Ay, ]Mr. Lovel, and young 
friends too, to converse with.” 

“ And what news do you bring us from Edinburgh, 
Monkbarns ?” said Sir Arthur ; “ how wags the world 
m Auld Reekie ?” 


60 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


‘‘ Mad, Sir Artlnir, mad — irretrievably frantic — fai 
beyond dipping in the sea, shaving the crown, or drinking 
hellebore. Tlie worst sort of frenzy, a militar}' frenzy, 
hath possessed man, woman, and child.” 

“ And high time, I think,” said Miss Wardour ; ‘‘ when 
we are tlireatened with invasion from abroad, and insur- 
rection at home.” 

“ O, I did not doubt you would join the scarlet host 
against me — women, like turkeys, are always subdued by 
a red rag — But what says Sir Arthur, whose dreams are 
of standing armies and German oppression 9” 

“ Why, I say, Mr. Oldbuck,” replied the knight, ‘‘ that, 
so far as 1 am capable of judging, we ought to resist cum 
toto corpora regni, — as the phrase is, unless I have alto- 
gether forgotten my Latin — an enemy who comes to pro- 
pose to us a whiggisl) sort of government, a republican sys- 
tem, and who is aided and abetted by a sort of fanatics of 
the worst kind in our owm bow^els. 1 have taken some meas- 
ures, 1 assure you, such as become my rank in the commu- 
nity ; for 1 have directed the constables to take up that 
old scoundrelly beggar, Edie Ochiltree, for spreading 
disaffection against church and state through the whole 
parish. He said plainly to old Caxon, that Willie Howie’s 
Kilmarnock cowl covered more sense than all the three 
wigs in the parish — I think it is easy to make out that in- 
nuendo — But the rogue shall be taught better manners.” 

“ O no, my dear sir,” exclaimed Miss Wardour, “ not 
old Edie, that we have known so long — I assure you no 
constable shall have my good graces that executes such a 
warrant.” 

“ Ay, there it goes,” said the Antiquary ; ‘‘ you, to be 
a stanch tory. Sir Arthur, have nourished a fine sprig of 
whiggery in your bosom — Why, Miss Wardour is alone 
sufficient to control a whole quarter-session — a quarter- 
session ? ay, a general assembly or convocation to boot — 
a Boadicea, she — an Amazon, a Zenobia.” 

“ And yet, with all my courage, Mr. Oldbuck, I am 
glad to hear our people are getting under arms.” 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


61 


“ Under arms, Lord love thee ! didst thou ever read 
the history of Sister Margaret, which flowed from a head, 
that, though now old and somedele grey, has more sense 
and political intelligence than you find now-a-days in a 
whole synod 9 Dost thou remember the nurse’s cieam 
in that exquisite work, which she recounts in such agony 
to Hubble Bubble — When she would have taken up a 
piece of broadcloth in her vision, lo ! it exploded like a 
great iron cannon ; when she put out her hand to save a 
pirn, it perked up in her face in the form of a pistol. My 
own vision in Edinburgh has been something similar. I 
called to consult my lawyer ; he was clothed in a dra- ^ 
goon’s dress, belted and casqued, and about to mount a 
charger, which his writing-clerk (habited as a sharp- 
shooter) walked to and fro before his door — I* went to 
scold my agent for having sent me to advise with a mad- 
man ; he had stuck into his head the plume, which in 
more sober days he wielded between his fingers, and fig- 
ured as an artillery-officer. My mercer had his spontoon 
in his hand, as if he measured his cloth by that implement 
instead of a legitimate yard. The banker’s clerk, who 
was directed to sum my cash-account, blundered it three 
times, being disordered by the recollection of his military 
tellings-off at the morning drill. I was ill, and sent for 
a surgeon — 

He came — but valour so had fired his eye. 

And such a falchion gliltered on his thigh. 

That, by the gods, with such a load of steel, 

I thought he came to murder, — not to heal ! 

I had recourse to a physician, but he also was practising 
a more wholesale mode of slaughter than that which his 
profession had been supposed at all times to open to him. 
And now, since I have returned here, even our Wise 
neighbours of Fairport have caught the same valiant hu- 
mour. I hate a gun like a hurt wild-duck- -I detest a 
drum like a quaker ; — and they thunder and rattle out 
yonder upon the town’s common, so that every volley and 
roll goes to my very heart.” 

4 VOL. I. 


62 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ Dear brother, dinna speak that gate o’ the gentle- 
men volunteers — I am sure they have a most becoming 
uniform — Weel I wot they have been wet to the very skin 
twice last week — I met them marching in terribly doukit 
and mony a sair hoast was amang them — And the trouble 
they take, I am sure it claims our gratitude.” 

“ And I am sure,” said Miss M’Intyre, that my uncle 
sent twenty guineas to help out their equipments.” 

“ It was to buy liquorice and sugar-candy,” said the 
cynic, ‘‘ to encourage the trade of the place, and to re- 
fresh the throats of the officers who had bawled them- 
selves hoarse in the service of their country.” 

“ Take care, Monkbarns ! we shall set you down 
among the black-nebs, by and by.” 

“ No, Sir Arthur, a tame grumbler I. I only claim 
the privilege of croaking in my own corner here, without 
uniting my throat to the grand chorus of the marsh — JYi 
quito Rcy, ni pongo Rey — I neither make king nor mar 
king, as Sancho says, but pray heartily for our own sov- 
ereign, pay scot and lot, and grumble at the exciseman — 
But here comes the ewe-milk cheese in good time ; it is 
a better digestive than politics.” 

When dinner was over, and the decanters placed on the 
table, Mr. Oldbuck proposed the King’s health in a bum- 
per, which was readily acceded to both by Lovel and the 
Baronet, the jacobitism of the latter being now a sort of 
speculative opinion merely, — the shadow of a shade. 

After the ladies had left the apartment, the landlord 
and Sir Arthur entered into several exquisite discussions, 
in which the younger guest, either on account of the ab- 
struse erudition which they involved, or for some other 
reason, took but a slender share, till at length he was sud- 
denly started out ol a profound reverie by an unexpected 
appeal to his judgment. 

“ I will stand by what Mr. Lovel says ; he was born 
in the North of Lngland, and may knov/ the very spot.’' 

Sir Arthur thought it unlikely that so young a gentleman 
should have paid much attention to matters of that sort 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


63 


“ I am avised of the contrary,” said Oldbuck.— 

‘ How say you, Mr. Lovel 9 — speak up, for your own 
credit, man.” 

Lovel was obliged to confess himself in the ridiculous 
situation of one, alike ignorant of the subject of conver- 
sation and controversy which had engaged the company 
for an hour. 

“ Lord help the lad, his head has been a wool-gather- 
ing ! — I thought how it would be when the womankind 
were admitted — no getting a word of sense out of a young 
fellow for six hours after. Why, man, there was once a 
people called the Piles” 

“ More properly Piets , interrupted the Baronet. 

“ I say the Pikar, Pihar, Piochtar, Piaghter, oi 
Peughiar,^^ vociferated Oldbuck ; ‘‘ they spoke a Gothic 
dialect” 

“ (Genuine Celtic,” again asseverated the Knight. 

“ Gothic ! Gothic, I’ll go to death upon it !” counter- 
asseverated the squire. 

“ Why, gentlemen,” said Lovel, “ 1 conceive that is 
a dispute which may be easily settled by philologists, ii 
there are any remains of the language.” 

“ There is but one word,” said the Baronet, “ but, 
in spite of Mr. Oldbuck’s pertinacity, it is decisive of the 
question.” 

“ Yes, in my favour,” said Oldbuck ; “ Mr. Lovel, 
you shall be judge — I have the learned Pinkerton on my 
side.” 


“ I, on mine, the indefatigable and erudite Chalmers.’' 
“ Gordon comes in to my opinion.” 

“ Sir Robert Sibbald holds mine.” 

‘‘ Innes is with me !” vociferated Oldbuck. 

“ Ritson has no doubt !” shouted the Baronet. 

“ Truly, gentlemen,” said Lovel, “ before you muster 
your forces and overwhelm me with authorities, 1 should 
like to know the word in dispute.” 

“ Beiival,^^ said both the disputants at once. 

‘‘ Which signifies caput said Sir Arthur. 

“ The head of thp wall,” echoed Oldbuck. 


64 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


There was a deep pause. — “ It is rather a narrow 
foundation to build a hypothesis upon,” observed the 
arbiter. 

Not a whit, not a whit,” said Oldbuck ; “ men fight 
best in a narrow ring — an inch is as good as a mile for a 
home-thrust.” 

“ It is decidedly Celtic,” said the Baronet ; “ every 
hill in the Highlands begins with Ben^ 

‘‘ But what say you to Sir Arthur — is it not de- 
cidedly the Saxon wall ?” 

“ It is the Roman vallum , said Sir Arthur ; “ the 
Piets borrowed that part of the word.” 

‘‘ No such thing ; if they borrowed anything, it must 
have been your Ben, which they might have from the 
neighbouring Britons of Strath Cluyd.” 

“ The Piks, or Piets,” said Lovel, “ must have been 
singularly poor in dialect, since, in the only remaining 
evord of their vocabulary, and that consisting only of two 
syllables, they have been confessedly obliged to borrow 
one of them from another language ; and methinks, gen- 
tlemen, with submission, the controversy is not unlike 
that which the two knights fought, concerning the shield 
that had one side white and the other black. Each ol 
you claim one-half of the word, and ceem to resign th(3 
other. But what strikes me most, is the poverty of the 
language which has left such slight vestiges behind it.” 

‘ You are in an error,” said Sir Arthur, “ it was u 
copious language, and they were a great and powerful 
people — built two steeples ; one at Brechin, one at Aber- 
nethy. The Pictish maidens of the blood-royal were 
kept in Edinburgh Castle, thence called Castrum Puella 
runiP 

“ A childish legend,” said Oldbuck, “ invented to 
give consequence to trumpery womankind. It was called 
the Maiden Castle, quasi lucus a non lucendo, because 
it resisted every attack, and women never do.” 

“ There is a list of the Pictish kings,” persisted Sir Ar- 
thur, “ well authenticated, from Crentheminachcryme (the 
date of whose reign is somewhat uncertain) down to Drus- 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


65 


icrstone, whose death concluded their dynasty. Half cl 
them have the Celtic patronymic Mac prefixed — Mac, id 
esijilius — what do you say to that, Mr. Oldbuck ? There 
is DrustMacmorachin,Trynel Maclachlin, (first of that an- 
cient clan, as it may be judged,) and Gormach Macdonald, 
Alpin Macmetegus, Drust Mackiallargarn, (here he was 
interrupted by a fit of coughing,) ugh, ugh, ugh — Golarge 
Macchan — ugh, ugh — Macchanan — ugh — Macchananail 
' — Kenneth — ugh — ugh — Macferedith, Eachan Macfun- 
gus — and twenty more, decidedly Celtic names, which ] 
could repeat if this damned cough would let me.” 

“ Take a glass of wine, Sir Arthur, and drink down that 
bead-roll of unbaptized jargon, that would choke the 
devil — why, that last fellow has the only intelligible name 
you have repeated — they are all of the tribe of Macfun- 
gus — mushroom monarchs every one of them ; sprung 
up from the fumes of conceit, folly, and falsehood, fer- 
menting in the brains of some mad Highland seannachie.” 

“ I am surprised to hear you, Mr. Oldbuck ; you 
know, or ought to know, that the list of these potentates 
was copied by Henry Maule of Melgum, from the Chron- 
icles of Loch-Leven and Saint Andrews, and put forth 
by him in his short but satisfactory history of the Piets, 
printed by Robert Freebairn of Edinburgh, and sold by 
him at his shop in tlie Parliament-close, in the year of 
God seventeen hundred and five, or six, I am not precise- 
1}^ certain which — but I have a copy at home that stands 
next to my twelvemo copy of the Scots Acts, and ranges 
on the shelf with them very well — What say you to that, 
Mr. Oldbuck ?” 

“ Say ? Why, I laugh at Harry Maule and his history,” 
answered Oldbuck, “ and thereby comply with his request, 
of giving it entertainment according to its merits.” 

“ Do not laugh at a better man than yourself,” said 
Sir Arthur, somewhat scornfully. 

“ I do not conceive 1 do. Sir Arthur, in laughing either 
at him or his history.” 
vot.. I, 


66 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


“ Henry Maule of Melgum was a gentleman, Mr. 
Oldbuck.” 

“ I presume he had no advantage of me in that par- 
ticular,” replied the Antiquary, somewhat tartly. 

“ Permit me, Mr. Oldbuck — he was a gentleman oi 
high family and ancient descent, and therefore” 

“ The descendant of a Westphalian printer should 
speak of him with deference 9 — Such may be your opin- 
ion, Sir Arthur — it is not mine. I conceive that my de- 
scent from that painful and industrious typographer. Wolf- 
brand Oldenbuck, who, in the month of December, 1493, 
under the patronage, as the colophon tells us, of Sebaldus 
Scheyter and Sebastian Kammermaister, accomplished 
the printing of the great Chronicle of Nuremburg — 1 
conceive, I say, that my descent from that great restorer 
of learning is more creditable to me as a man of letters, 
than if I had numbered in my genealogy all the brawling, 
bullet-headed, iron-fisted, old Gothic barons since the 
days of Crentheminachcryme — not one of whom, I sup- 
pose, could write his own name.” 

“ If you mean the observation as a sneer at my an- 
cestry,” said the Knight, with an assumption of dignified 
superiority and composure, “ 1 have the pleasure to in- 
form you, that the name of my ancestor, Gamelyn de 
Guardover, Miles, is written fairly with his own hand in 
the earliest copy of the Ragman-roll.” 

Which only serves to show that he was one of tlie 
earliest wdio set the mean example of submitting to Ed- 
ward I. What have you to say for the stainless loyalty 
of your family. Sir Arthur, after such a backsliding as 
that 9” 

“ It’s enough, sir,” said Sir Arthur, starting up fierce- 
ly, and pushing back his chair, ‘‘ 1 shall hereafter take 
rare how I honour with my company one who shows 
aimself so ungrateful for my condescension.” 

“ In that you will do as you find most agreeable. Sir 
Arthur ; I hope, that, as I was not aware of the extent 
«f the obligation which you have done me, by visiting my 


THE ANTKtUAIlT. 


67 


poor house, I may be excused for not having carried my 
gratitude to the extent of servility.” 

“ Mighty well — mighty well, Mr. Oldbuck — I wish you 
a good evening — Mr. a — a — a — Shovel — I wish you a 
very good evening.” 

Out of the parlour door flounced the incensed Sir Ar- 
thur, as if the spirit of the whole Round Table inflamed 
his single bosom, and traversed with long strides the 
labyrinth of passages which conducted to the drawing- 
room. 

“ Did you ever hear such an old tup-headed ass 
said Oldbuck, briefly apostrophizing Lovel ; “ but I must 
not let him go in this mad-like way neither.” 

So saying, he pushed off after the retreating baronet, 
whom he traced by the clang of several doors which he 
opened in search of the japartment for tea, and slammed 
with force behind him at every disappointment. “ You’ll 
do yourself a mischief,” roared the Antiquary ; “ (^ui 
amhulat in tenehris, nescit quo vadit — You’ll tumble 
down the back-stair.” 

Sir Arthur had now got involved in darkness, of which 
the sedative effect is well known to nurses and governess- 
es who have to deal with pettish children. It retarded the 
pace of the irritated baronet, if it did not abate his re- 
sentment, and Mr. Oldbuck, better acquainted with the 
locale, got up with him as he had got his grasp upon the 
handle of the drawing-room door. “ Stay a minute. Sir 
Arthur,” said Oldbuck, opposing his abrupt entrance ; 

don’t be quite so ha§ty, my good old friend — I was a 
little too rude with you about Sir Gamelyn — why, he is 
an old acquaintance of mine, man, and a favourite — he 
kept company with Bruce and Wallace — and I’ll be 
sworn on a black-letter Bible, only subscribed the Rag- 
man-roll with the legitimate and justifiable intention ol 
circumventing the false Southern — ’twas right Scottish 
craft, my good knight — hundreds did it — come, come, 
forget and forgive — confess we have given the young fel- 
'ow here a right to think us two testy old fools.” 


68 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ Speak for yourself, IMr. Jonathan Oldbuck,” sa d 
Sir Arthur, with much majesty. 

‘‘ A-well, a-well — a wilful man must have his way.” 

With tliat the door opened, and into the drawing-room 
marched the tall gaunt form of Sir Artliur, followed by 
Lovel and Mr. Oldbuck, the countenances of all three a 
little discomposed. 

“ I have been waiting for you, sir,” said Miss War- 
dour, “ to propose we should walk forward to meet the 
carriage, as the evening is so fine.” 

Sir Arthur readily assented to this proposal, which 
suited the angry mood in which he found himself ; and 
having, agreeably to the established custom in cases of pet, 
refused the refreshment of tea and coffee, he tucked his 
daughter under his arm ; and, after taking a ceremonious 
leave of the ladies, and a very dry one of Oldbuck — off 
he marched. 

“ I think Sir Arthur has got the black dog on his back 
again,” said Miss Oldbuck. 

“ Black dog ! — black devil ! — he’s more absurd than 
womankind — What say you, Lovel 9 — Why, the lad’s 
gone too.” 

“ He took his leave, uncle, while Miss Wardour was 
putting on her things ; but 1 don’t think you observed 
him.” 

“ The devil’s in the people ! This is all one gets by 
fussing and bustling, and putting one’s self out of one’s 
way in order to give dinners, besides all the charges they 
are put to. — O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia !” said he, 
uking up a cup of tea in the one hand, and a volume of 
the Rambler in the other, — for it was his regular custom 
to read while he was eating or drinking in presence of 
his sister, being a practice which served at once to 
evince his contempt for the society of womankind, and 
his resolution to lose no moment of instruction, — “ O 
Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia ! well hast thou spoken- - 
iNo man should presume to say, this shall be a day of hap- 
oiness.” 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


69 


Oldbuck proceeded in his studies for the best part of 
an hour, uninterrupted by the ladies, who each, in pro- 
found silence, pursued some female employment. At 
length, a light and modest tap was heard at the parlour 
door. “ Is that you, Caxon — come in, come in man.” 

The old man opened the door, and, thrusting in his 
meagre face, thatched with thin grey locks^ and one 
sleeve of his white coat, said, in a subdued and myste- 
rious tone of voice, “ I was wanting to steak to you, 
sir.” 

“ Come in then, you old fool, and say what you have 
got to say.” 

“ ril maybe frighten the ladies,” said the ex-friseur. 

‘‘ Frighten !” answered the Antiquary, “ what do you 
mean — never mind the ladies. Have you seen another 
ghaist at the Humlock-know ?” 

“ Na, sir ; it’s no a ghaist this turn,” replied Caxon — 
“ but I’m no easy in my mind.” 

“ Did you ever hear of any body that was answer- 
ed Oldbuck ; “ what reason has an old battered powder- 
puff like you to be easy in your mind, more than all the 
rest of the world besides T’ 

‘‘ It’s no for mysell, sir ; but it threatens an awfu’ 
night ; and Sir Arthur, and Miss Wardour, poor thing” — 
Why, man, they must have met the carriage at the 
head of the loaning, or thereabouts ; they must be home 
long ago.” 

“ Na, sir ; they didna gang the road by the turnpike 
to meet the carriage, they gaed by the sands.” 

The word operated like electricity on Oldbuck. 

“ The sands !'’he exclaimed ; “impossible !” 

“ Ou, sir, that’s what 1 said to the gardener; but he 
says he saw them turn dowm by the Mussel-craig — in 
trotli, says I to him, an that be the case, Davie, I am 
misdoubting” 

“ An almanack ! an almanack !” said OMbuck, start- 
ing up in great alarm — “ not that bauble !” flinging away 
1 little pocket almanack which his neice offered him — ■ 

Great God ! my j^oor dear Miss Isabella ! — fetch me 


70 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


instantly the Fairport almanack.” — It was brought, con- 
sulted, and added greatly to his agitation. “ J’ll go my- 
self — call the gardener and ploughman — bid them bring 
ropes and ladders — bid them raise more help as they come 
along — keep the top of the cliffs, and halloo down to 
them — ril go myself.” 

“ What is the matter ?” inquired Miss Oldbuck and 
Miss M’Intyre. 

“ The tide ! — the tide !” answered the alarmed Anti- 
quary. 

“ Had not Jenny better — but no. I’ll run myself,” said 
the younger lady, partaking in all her uncle’s terrors— 
‘‘ I’ll run myself to Saunders Mucklebackit, and make 
him get out his boat.” 

“ Thank you, my dear, that’s the wisest word that has 
been spoken yet — run ! run ! To go by the sands !” 
seizing his hat and cane ; “ was there ever such madness 
heard of !” 


CHAPTER VII. 


•^Pleased awhile to view 

The water)" w-aste, the prospect wild and new ; 

I'iie now receding waters gave them space, 

On either side, liie growing shores to trace ; 

And then, returning, they contract the scene, 

Till small and smaller grows the walk between. 

The information of Davie Dibble, which had spread 
such general alarm at Monkbarns, proved to be strictly 
correct. Sir Arthur and his daughter had set out, ac- 
cording to their first proposal, to return to Knockwinnock 
oy the turnpike road ; but, when they reached the head 
Df the loaning, as it was called, or great lane, which on 
one side made a sort of avenue to the house of Monkbarns, 
Jiey discerned a little way before them, Lovel, who seem - 
id to linger on the way as if to give him an opportunity 


THE ANTIC^UART. 


71 


to join them. Miss Wardour immediately proposed to 
her father that they should take another direction ; and, 
as the weather was fine, walk home by the sands 
which, stretching below a picturesque ridge of rocks, 
afforded at almost all times a pleasanter passage between 
Knockwinnock and Monkbarns than the high-road. 

Sir Arthur acquiesced willingly. “ It would be un- 
pleasant,” he said, “ to be joined by that young fellow, 
whom Mr. Oldbuck had taken the freedom to introduce 
them to.” And his old-fashioned politeness had none of 
the ease of the present day, which permits you, if you 
have a mind, to cut the person you have associated with 
for a week, the instant you feel or suppose yourself in a 
situation which makes it disagreeable to own him. Sir 
Arthur only stipulated, jhat a 'little ragged boy, for the 
guerdon of one penny sterling, should run to meet his 
coachman, and turn his equipage back to Knockwinnock, 

When this was arranged, and the emissary despatched, 
the Knight and nis daughter left the high-road, and fol- 
lowing a wandering path among sandy hillocks, partly 
grown over with furze and the long grass called bent, soon 
attained the side of the ocean. The tide was by no 
means so far out as they had computed, but this gave them 
no alarm : there were seldom ten days in the year when 
it approached so near the cliffs as not to leave a dry pas- 
sage. But, nevertheless, at periods of spring-tide, or 
even when the ordinary flood was accelerated by high 
winds, this road was altogether covered by the sea ; and 
tradition had recorded several fatal accidents which had 
happened on such occasions. Still, such dangers were 
considered as remote and impruabable ; and rather served, 
with other legends, to amuse the hamlet fireside, than to 
prevent any one from going between Knockwinnock and 
Monkbarns by the sands. 

As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour paced along enjoying 
the pleasant footing afforded by the cool moist hard 
sand. Miss Wardour could not help observing, that the 
last tide had risen considerably above the usual water- 
mark. Sir Arthur made the same observation, but witli- 


72 


THE A]VTIQ,UAEY. 


out its occurring to either of them to be alarmed at the 
circumstance. Tlie sun was now resting his huge disk 
upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accumu- 
lation of towering clouds through which he had travelled 
the livelong day, and which now assembled on all sides 
like misfortunes and disasters around a sinking empire and 
falling monarch. Still, however, his dying splendour 
gave a sombre magnificence to the massive congregation 
of vapours, forming out of their unsubstantial gloom the 
show of pyramids and towers, some touched with gold, 
some with purple, some with a hue of deep and dark 
red. The distant sea, stretched beneath this varied and 
gorgeous canopy, lay almost portentously still, reflecting 
back the dazzling and level beams of the descending 
luminary, and the splendid colouring of the clouds amidst 
which he was setting. Nearer to the beach, the tide rip- 
pled onward in waves of sparkling silver, that impercept- 
ibly, yet rapidly, gained upon the sand. 

With a mind employed in admiration of the romantic 
scene, or perhaps on some more agitating topic. Miss 
VVardour advanced in- silence by her father’s side, whose 
recently offended dignity did not stoop to open any con- 
versation. Following the windings of the beach, they 
passed one projecting point or headland of rock after 
another, and now found themselves under a huge and 
continued extent of the precipices by which that iron- 
bound coast is in most places defended. Long projecting 
reefs of rock, extending under water, and only evincing 
their existence by here and there a peak entirely bare, or 
()y the breakers which foamed over those that were par- 
tially covered, rendered Knockwinnock bay dreaded by 
pilots and ship-masters. The crags which rose between 
the beach and the mainland, to the height of two or three 
hundred feet, afforded in their crevices shelter for unnum- 
bered sea-fowl, in situations seemingly secured by their 
dizzy height from the rapacity of man. Many of these 
wild tribes, with the instinct which sends them to seek the 
land before a storm arises, were now winging towards 


THE ANTKiUAIiy. 


73 


iheir nests with the shrill and dissonant clang which an- 
nounces disquietude and fear. 

The disk of the sun became almost totally obscured 
ere he had altogether sunk below the horizon, and an 
early and lurid shade of darkness blotted the serene 
twilight of a summer evening. The wind began next to 
arise, but its wild and moaning sound was heard for some 
time, and its effects became visible on the bosom of the 
sea, before the gale was felt on shore. The mass of wa 
ters, now dark and threatening, began to lift itself in larger 
ridges, and sink in deeper furrows, forming waves that 
rose high in foam upon the breakers, or burst upon the 
beach with a sound resembling distant thunder. 

Appalled by this sjudden change of weather. Miss 
Wardour drew close to her father, and held his arm fast. 
“ I wish,” at length she said, but almost in a whisper, as 
if ashamed to express her increasing apprehensions, “ 1 
wish we had kept the road we intended, or waited at 
Monkbarns for the carriage.” 

Sir Arthur looked round, but did not see, or would not 
acknowledge, any signs of an immediate storm. They 
would reach Knockwinnock, he said, long before the tem- 
pest began. But the speed with which he walked, and 
with which Isabella could hardly keep pace, indicated a 
feeling that some exertion was necessary to accomplish 
his consolatory prediction. 

They were now near the centre of a deep but narrow 
bay, or recess, formed by two projecting capes of high 
and inaccessible rock, which shot out into the sea like the 
horns of a crescent ; and neither durst communicate the 
apprehension which each began to entertain, that, from 
the unusually rapid advance of the tide, they might be 
deprived of the power of proceeding by doubling the 
promontory which lay before them, or of retreating by 
the road which brought them thither. 

As they thus pressed forward, longing doubtless to ex- 
change the easy curving line, which the sinuosities of the 
bay compelled them to adopt, for a straighter and more 

VOL. I. 


74 


THE AXTIQ,UAIIY. 


expeditious path, though less conformable to the line of 
beauty, Sir Arthur observed a human figure on the beach 
advancing to meet them. “ Thank God,” he exclaimed, 
we shall get round Halket-head ! that person must have 
passed it thus giving vent to the feeling of hope, though 
he had suppressed that of apprehension. 

“ Thank God indeed !” echoed his daughter half audi- 
bly, half internally, as expressing the gratitude which she 
strongly felt. 

The figure which advanced to meet them made many 
signs, which the haze of the atmosphere, now disturbed 
by wind and by a drizzling rain, prevented them from 
seeing or comprehending distinctly. Some time before 
they met, Sir Arthur could recognize the old blue-gowned 
beggar, Edie Ochiltree. It is said that even the brute 
creation lay aside their animosities and antipathies when 
pressed by an instant and common danger. The beach 
under Halket-head, rapidly diminishing in extent by the 
encroachments of a spring-tide and a north-west wind, was 
in like manner a neutral field, where even a justice of 
peace and a strolling mendicant might meet upon terms of 
mutual forbearance. 

Turn back ! turn back !” exclaimed the vagrant 5 
“ why did ye not turn when I waved. to you 9 ” 

“We thought,” replied Sir Arthur, in great agitation, 
“ we thought we could get round Halket-head.” 

“ Halket-head ! The tide will be running on Halket- 
head by this time like the Fall of Fyers ! it was a’ 1 
could do to get round it twenty minutes since — it was 
coming in three feet a-breast. We will maybe get back 
by Bally-burgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help us, it’s 
our only chance. We can but try.” 

“ ]\Iy God, my child !” — ^“My father, my dear father !” 
exclaimed the parent and daughter, as, fear lending them 
strength and speed, they turned to retrace their steps, 
and endeavour to double the point, the projection oi 
which formed the southern extremity of the bay. 

“ 1 heard ye were here, frae the bit callant ye sent to 
meet your carriage,” said the beggar, as be trudged 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


75 


Btoutly on a step or two behind Miss Wardour, ‘‘and I 
couldna bide to think o’ the dainty young leddy’s peril 
that has aye been kind to ilka forlorn heart that cam hear 
her. Sae I lookit at the lift and the rin o’ the tide, till I 
settled it that if I could get down time enough to gie you 
warning, we wad do weel yet. But 1 doubt, I doubt, I 
have been beguiled ! for what mortal ee ever saw sic a 
race as the tide is rinning e’en now See, yonder’s the 
Ration’s Skerry — he aye held his neb abune the water in 
my day — but he’s aneath it now.” 

Sir Arthur cast a look in the direction in which the old 
man pointed. A huge rock, which in general, even in 
spring-tides, displayed a hulk like the keel of a large 
vessel, was now quite under water, and its place only 
indicated by the boiling and breaking of the eddying 
waves which encountered its submarine resistance. 

“ Mak haste, mak haste, my bonny leddy,” continued 
the old man, “ mak haste, and we may do yet ! Take 
baud o’ my arm — an auld and frail arm it’s now, but it’s 
been in as sair stress as this is yet. Take baud o’ my 
arm, my winsome leddy ! D’ye see yon wee black speck 
amang the wallowing waves yonder ? This morning it 
was as high as the mast o’ a brig — it’s sma’ enough now 
— but, while I see as muckle black about it as the crown 
o’ my hat, I winna believe but weill get round the Bally- 
burgh Ness for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” 

Isabella, in silence, accepted from the old man the as- 
sistance which Sir Arthur was less able to afford her. 
The waves had now encroached so much upon the beach, 
that the firm and smooth footing which they had hitherto 
had on the sand must be exchanged for a rougher path 
close to the foot of the precipice, and in some places even 
raised upon its lower ledges. It would have been utterly 
impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour or his daughter to 
have found their way along these shelves without the 
guidance and encouragement of the beggar, who had 
been there before in high tides, though never, he acknow- 
ledged, “ in sae awsome a night as this.” 


T6 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the 
storm mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl, and sound- 
ed like the dirge of the three devoted beings, who, pent 
between two of the most magnificent, yet most dreadfii 
objects of nature — a raging tide and an insurmountable 
precipice — toiled along their painful and .dangerous path, 
often lashed by the spray of some giant billow, which 
threw itself higher on the beach than those that had pre- 
ceded it. Each minute did their enemy gain ground per- 
ceptibly. upon them ! Still, however, loth to relinquish 
the last hopes of life, they bent their eyes on the black 
rock pointed out by Ochiltree. It was yet distinctly vis- 
ible among the breakers, and continued to be so, until 
they came to a turn in their precarious path where an 
intervening projection of rock hid it f/om their sight. 
Deprived of the view of the beacon on which they had 
relied, they now experienced the double agony of terror 
and suspense. They struggled forward, however ; but, 
when they arrived at the point from which they ought 
to have seen the crag, it was no longer visible. The 
signal of safety was lost among a thousand white break- 
ers, which, dashing upon the point of the promontory, rose 
in prodigious sheets of snowy foam as high as the mast 
of a first-rate man-of-war,' against the dark brow of the 
precipice. • 

The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave 
a faint shriek, and, “ God have mercy upon us !” which 
her guide solemnly uttered, was piteously echoe\l by Sir 
Arthur — “ My child ! my child ! — to die such a death !” 

“ My father ! my dear father !” his daughter ex- 
claimed, clinging to him, — “and you too, who have lost 
vour own life in endeavouring to save ours !” 

“ That’s not worth the counting,” said the old man. 
‘ I hae lived to be weary o’ life ; and here or yonder — 
nt the back o’ a dyke, in a wreath o’ snaw, or in the wame 
d’ a wave, what signifies how the auld gaberlunz e dies ?” 

“ Good man,” said Sir Arthur, “ can you think of 
nothing — of no help — I’ll make you rich — I’ll give 
you a farm — I’ll”- 


THE AXTIQ,XJARY. 


77 


“ Our riches will be soon equal,” said the beggar, look- 
ing out upon the strife of the waters — “ the 3 ' are sae al 
ready ; for I hae nae land, and you would give your fair 
bounds and barony for a square yard of rock that would 
be dry for twal hours.” 

While they exchanged these words, they paused upon 
the highest ledge of rock to which they could attain ; for 
it seemed that any further attempt to move forward could 
only serve to anticipate their fate. Here then they were 
to await the sure though slow progress of the raging ele- 
ment, something in the situation of the martyrs of the 
early church, who, exposed by heathen tyrants to be 
slain by wild beastj, were compelled for a time to witness 
the impatience and rage by which the animals were agi- 
tated, while awaiting the signal for undoing their grates 
and letting them loose upon the victims. 

Yet even this fearful pause gave Isabella time to collect 
the powers of a mind naturally strong and courageous, 
and which rallied itself at this terrible juncture. “ Must 
we yield life,” she said, without a struggle 9 Is there no 
path, however dreadful, by which we could climb the 
crag, or at least attain some height above the tide, where 
we could remain till morning, or till help comes 9 they 
must be aware of our situation, and will raise the country 
to relieve us.” 

Sir Arthur, who heard, but scarcely comprehended, his 
daughter’s question, turned, nevertheless, instinctively and * 
eagerly to the old man, as if their lives were in his gift. 
Ochiltree paused. “ I was a bauld craigsman,” he said, 

“ ance in my life, and mony a kittywake’s and lungie’s 
nest hae I harried up amang thae very black rocks ; but 
it’s lang, lang syne, and nae mortal could speel them 
without a rope — and if I had ane, my ee-sight, and my 
footstep, and my hand-grip, hae a’ failed mony a day 

sinsyne and then how could I save you ? — But there 

was a path here ance, though maybe if we could see it 
ye would rather bide where we are His name be prais- 

ed !” he ejaculated suddenly, “ there’s ane coming down 

VOL. I. 


78 


THE ANTIQ,IJARY. 


the crag e’en now !” — Then, exalting his voice, he hil- 
loa’d out to the daring adventurer such instructions as his 
former practice, and the remembrance of local circum- 
stances, suddenly forced upon his mind : — “ Ye’re right— 
ye’re right! — that gate, that gate 1 — fasten the rope weel 
round Crummie’s-horn, that’s the muckle black stane — 
cast twa plies round it — that’s it ! — now weize yoursell a 
wee easel-ward — a wee mair yet to that ither stane — we 
ca’d it the Cat’s -lug — there used to be the root o’ an 
aik-tree there — that will do ! — canny now, lad — canny 
now — tak tent and tak time — Lord bless ye, tak time. — 
Vera weel ! — Now ye maun get to Bessy’s Apron, that’s 
the muckle braid flat blue stane — and then, I think, wi’your 
help and the tow thegither. I’ll win at ye, and then we’ll be 
able to get up the young leddy and Sir Arthur.” 

The adventurer following the directions of old Edie, 
flung him down the end of the rope, which he secured 
around Miss Wardour, wrapping her previously in his own 
blue gown, to preserve her as much as possible from in- 
jury. Then, availing himself of the rope, which was 
.made fast at the other end, he began to ascend the face of 
the crag — a most precarious and dizzy undertaking, 
which, however, after one or two perilous escapes, placed 
him safe on the broad flat stone beside our friend Lovel. 
Their joint strength was able to raise Isabella to the place 
of safety which they had attained. Lovel then descend- 
ed in order to assist Sir Arthur, around whom he adjust- 
ed the rope ; and again mounting to their place of refuge, 
with the assistance of old Ochiltree, and such aid as Sir 
Arthur himself could afford, he raised himself beyond the 
reach of the billows. 

The sense of reprieve from approaching and apparent- 
ly inevitable death, had its usual effect. The father and 
daughter threw themselves into each other’s arms, kissed, 
and wept for joy, although their escape was connected 
with the prospect of passing a tempestuous night upon a 
precipitous ledge of rock, which scarce ^afforded footing 
for the four shivering beings, who now, like the sea-fowl 
around them, clung there in hopes of some shelter fron? 


THE ANTIQ,UA11T. 


79 


the devouring element which raged beneath. Tne spray 
of the billows, wiiicli attained in fearful succession ihe foot 
of the precipice, overflowing the beach on which they so 
lately stood, flew as high as their place of temporary re- 
fuge ; and the stunning sound with which they dashed 
against the rocks beneath, seemed as if they still demand- 
ed the fugitives in accents of thunder as their destined 
prey. It was a summer night doubtless ; yet the pro- 
bability was slender, that a frame so delicate as that of 
Miss Wardour should survive till morning the drenching 
of the spray ; and the dashing of the rain, which now 
burst in full violence, accompanied with deep and heavy 
gusts of wind, added to the constrained and perilous cir- 
cumstances of their situation. 

“ The lassie — the puir sweet lassie,” said the old 
man ; “ mony such a night have 1 weathered at hame 
and abroad, but, God guide us, how can she ever win 
through it !” 

His apprehension was communicated in smothered ac- 
cents to Lovel ; for, with the sort of free-masonry by 
which bold and ready spirits correspond in moments ot 
danger, and become alnlost instinctively known to each 
other, they had established a mutual confidence. — I’ll 
climb up the cliff again,” said Lovel, “ there’s daylight 
enough left to see my footing ; I’ll climb up and call for 
more assistance.” 

‘‘ Do so, do so, for Heaven’s sake !” said Sir Arthur* 
eagerly. 

“ Are ye mad 9” said the mendicant ; “ Francie o’‘ 
Fowlsheugh, and he was the best craigsman that ever 
speel’d heugh, (mail* by token, he brake his neck upon 
the Dunbuy of Slaines,) wadna hae ventured upon the 
Halket-head craigs after sun-down — It’s God’s grace, 
and a great wonder besides, that ye are not in the middle 
o’ that roaring sea wi’ what ye hae done already — I didna 
think there was the man left alive would hae come down 
die craigs as ye did. I question an I could hae done it 
mysell, at this hour and in this weather, in the youngest 


80 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


and yaldest of my strength — But to venture up again— 
it’s a mere and a clear tempting o’ Providence.” 

“ I have no fear,” answered Lovel ; I marked all 
the stations perfectly as 1 came down, and there js still 
light enough left to see them quite well — I am sure I can 
do it with perfect safety. Stay here, my good friend, by 
Sir Arthur and the young lady.” 

“ Deil be in my feet then,” answered the bedes-man 
sturdily ; “ if ye gang, I’ll gang too ; for between the twa 
o’ us, we’ll hae mair than wark enough to get to the tap 
o’ the heugh.” 

“ No, no — stay you here and attend to Miss Wardour 
— you see Sir Arthur is quite exhausted.” 

“ Stay yoursell then, an I’ll gae,” said the old man ; 
“ let death spare the green corn and take the ripe.” 

“ Stay both of you, 1 charge you,” said Isabella, faint- 
ly, “ I am well, and can spend the night very well here 
— 1 feel quite refreshed.” So saying, her voice failed 
her — she sunk down, and would have fallen from the 
crag, had she not been supported by Lovel and Ochiltree, 
who placed her in a posture half sitting, half reclining, 
beside her father, who, exhausted by fatigue of body and 
mind so extreme and unusual, had already sat down on a 
stone in a sort of stupor. 

“ It is impossible to leave them,” said Lovel — “ What 
IS to be done — Hark ! hark ! — Did ] not hear a hal- 
loo <?” 

“ The skriegh of a Tammie Norie,” answered Ochil- 
iTee, “ I ken the skirl week” 

‘‘ No, by Heaven,” replied Lovel, “ it was a human 
voice !” 

A distant hail was repeated, the sound plainly distin- 
guishable among the various elemental noises, and the 
clang of the sea-mews by which they were surrounded. 
The mendicant and Lovel exerted their voices in a loud 
halloo the former waving Miss Wardour’s handkerchief 
on the end of his staff to make them conspicuous from 
above. Though the shouts were repeated, it was some 
lime b^ore they were in exact response to their own. 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


81 


leaving the unfortunate sufferers uncertain whether, in the 
darkening twilight and increasing storm, they had made 
the persons who apparently were traversing the verge 
of the precipice to bring them assistance, sensible of the 
place in which they had found refuge. At length their 
halloo was regularly and distinctly answered, and their 
courage confirmed, by the assurance that they were with- 
in hearing, if not within reach, of friendly assistance. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully on the confined deep ; 

Bring me but to the very brim of it, 

And ril repair the misery thou dost bear. 

King Lear. 

The shout of human voices from above was soon aug- 
mented, and the gleam of torches mingled with those 
lights of evening which still remained amidst the darkness 
of the storm. Some attempt was made to hold commu- 
nication between the assistants above, and the sufferers 
beneath, who were still clinging to their precarious place 
of safety ; but the howling of the tempest limited their 
intercourse to cries, as inarticulate as those of the winged 
denizens of the crag, which shrieked in chorus, alarmed 
by the reiterated sound of human voices, where they had 
seldom been heard. 

On the verge of the precipice an anxious group had 
now assembled. Oldbuck was the foremost and most 
earnest, pressing forward with unwonted desperation to 
the very brink of the crag, and extending his head (his hat 
and wig secured by a handkerchief under his chin) over 
the dizzy height, with an air of determination which 
maile his more timorous assistants tremble. 


82 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


“ Haud a care, baud a care, Monkbarns,” cried Caxon, 
clinging to tbe skirts of bis patron, and vvitbbolding Iiini 
from danger as far as bis strength permitted — “ God’s 
sake, baud a care ! — Sir Arthur’s drowned already, and 
an ye fa’ over tbe cleugh too, there will be but ae wig 
left in the parish, and that’s tbe minister’s.” 

“ Mind tbe peak there,” cried Mjcklebackit, an old 
fisherman and smuggler — “ mind tbe peak — Steenie. 
Steenie Wilks, bring up tbe tackle — I’se warrant we’b 
sune heave them on board, Monkbarns, wad ye but stano 
out o’ tbe gate.” 

“ I see them,” said Oldbuck, “ I see them low down 
on that flat stone — Hilli-billoa, billi-ho-a !” 

“ I see tbemmysell weel eneugh,” said Mucklebackit ; 

‘‘ they are sitting down yonder like hoodie-craw’s in a 
mist ; but d’ye think ye’ll help them wi’ skirling that gate 
like an auld skart before a flaw o’ weather 9 — Steenie, 
lad, bring up the mast — Odd, I’se hae them up as we 
used to bouse up the kegs o’ gin and brandy lang syne — 
Get up the pick-axe, maice a step for the mast — Make the 
chair fast with the rattlin — haul taught and belay!” 

The fishers had brought with them the mast of a boat, 
and as half of the country fellows about had now appear- 
ed, either out of zeal or curiosity, it was soon sunk in 
the ground, and sufficiently secured. A yard, across the 
upright mast, and a rope stretched along it, and reeved 
through a block at each end, formed an extempore crane, 
which afforded the means of lowering an arm-chair, well 
secured and fastened, down to the flat shelf on which the 
sufferers had roosted. Their joy at hearing the prepa- 
rations going on for their deliverance was considerably 
qualified when they beheld the precarious vehicle, by „ 
means of which they were to be conveyed to upper air. 

It swung about a yard free of the spot which they occu- 
pied, obeying each impulse of the tempest, the empty air 
all around it, and depending upon the security of a rope, 
which, in the increasing darkness, had dwindled to an 
almost imperceptible thread. Besides the hazard oi 
committing a human being to the vacant atmosphere in 


THE ANTI^EARY. 


83 


such a slight means of conveyance, there was the fearful 
danger of the chair and its occupant being dashed, either 
by the wind or the vibrations of the cord, against the 
rugged face of the precipice. But to diminish the risk 
as much possible, the experienced seamen had let down 
with the chair another line, which, being attached to it, 
and held by the persons beneath, might serve by way of 
g-i/, as Mucklebackit expressed it, to render its descent in 
some measure steady and regular. Still, to commit one’s 
self in such a vehicle, through a howling tempest of wind 
and rain, with a beetling precipice above, and a raging 
abyss below, required that courage which despair alone 
can inspire. Yet wild as the sounds and sights of dan- 
ger were, both above, beneath, and around, and doubtful 
and dangerous as the mode of escaping appeared to be, 
Lovel and the old mendicant agreed, after a moment’s 
consultation, and after the former, by a sudden strong 
pull, had, at his own imminent risk, ascertained the secu- 
rity of the rope, that it would be best to secure Miss 
Wardour in the chair, and trust to the tenderness and care 
of those above for her being safely craned up to the top 
of the crag. 

“ Let my father go first,” exclaimed Isabella ; “ for 
God’s sake, my friends, place him first in safety.” 

“ It cannot be, Miss Wardour,” said Lovel ; “ your 
life must be first secured — the rope which bears your 
weight may”— 

“ I will not listen to a reason so selfish!” 

“ But ye maun listen to it, my bonny lassie,” said 
Ochiltree, “ for a’ our lives depend on it — besides, when 
ye get on the tap o’ the heugh yonder, ye can gie them 
a round guess o’ what’s ganging on in this Patrnos o’ ours 
■ — and Sir Arthur’s far by that, as I am thinking.” 

Struck with the truth of this reasoning, she exclaimed; 

True, most true ; I am ready and willing to undertake 
the first risk — What shall I say to our friends above ?” 

“ Just to look that their tackle does not graze on the 
face o’ the crag, and to let the chair down, and draw it 
up hoolly and fairly — we will halloo when we are ready.’ 


84 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


With tlie sedulous attention of a parent to a child 
Lovel bound ]Miss Wardonr with his handkerchief, neck 
cloth, and the mendicant’s leathern belt, to the back and 
arms of the chair, ascertaining accurately the security of 
each knot, wdiile Ochiltree kept Sir Arthur quiet. 
“ What are ye doing wi’ my bairn ^ — What are ye doing 
— She shall not be separated from me — Isabel, stay with 
me, I command you.” 

“ Lord sake. Sir Arthur, hand your tongue, and be 
thankful to God that there’s wiser folk than you to manage 
this job,” cried the beggar, w’orn out by the unreasonable 
exclamations of the poor baronet. 

“ Farewell, my father,” murmured Isabella — “ fare- 
well, my — my friends,” and, shutting her eyes, as Edie’s 
experience recommended, she gave the signal to Lovel, 
and he to those who were above. She rose, while the 
chair in which she sat was kept steady by the line which 
Lovel managed beneath. With a beating heart he watch- 
ed the flutter of her white dress, until the vehicle w^as on 
a level with the brink of the precipice. 

“ Canny now, lads, canny now !” exclaimed old Muc- 
klebackit, who acted as commodore ; “ sw^erve the yard 
a bit — Now — there ! there she sits safe on dry land !” 

A loud shout announced the successful experiment to 
her fellow-sufferers beneath, who replied with a ready 
and cheerful halloo. Monkbarns, in his ecstasy of joy, 
stripped his great-coat to wrap up the young lady, and 
would have pulled off his coat and waistcoat for the same 
purpose, had he not been withheld by the cautious Cax- 
on. “ Hand a care o’ us, your honour will be killed wi’ 
the hoast — ye’ll no get out o’ your night-cowl this fort- 
night — and that will suit us unco ill. — Na, na, — there’s 
the chariot down by, let twa o’ the folk carry the young 
lady there.” 

“ You’re right,” said the Antiquary, re-adjusting the 
sleeves and collar of his coat, “ you’re right, Caxon ; 
this is a naughty night to swim in. — Miss Wardour, lot 
me convey you to the chariot.” 

“ Not for worlds till I see my father safe.” 


THE .^NTiqUART. 


85 


In a few distinct words, evincing how much her resolu- 
tion had surmounted even the mortal fear of so agitating 
a hazard, she explained the nature of the situation be- 
neath, and the wishes of Lovel and Ochiltree. 

“ Right, right, that’s right too — I should like to see the 
son of Sir Gamelyn de Guardover on dry land myself — 
1 have a notion he would sisn the abjuration oath, and the 
Ragman-roll to boot, and acicnowjedge Queen Mary to be 
nothing better than she should be, to get alongside my bottle 
of old port that he ran away from, and left scarce begun 
— But he’s safe now, and here a’ comes — (for the chair 
was again lowered, and Sir Arthur made fast in it, with- 
out much consciousness on his own part) — here a’ comes 
— bowse away, my boys — canny wi’ him — a pedigree of 
a hundred links is hanging on a ten-penny tow — the whole 
barony of Knockwinnock depends on three plies of hemp 
— respice fmen^ respice funem — look to your end — look 

to a rope’s end. Welcome, welcome, my good old 

friend, to firm land, though I cannot say to warm land or 
to dry land — a cord forever against fifty fathom of water, 
though not in the sense of the base proverb — a fico for the 
phrase — better sus. per funem, than sus. per coIL^^ 

While Oldbuck ran on in this way. Sir Arthur was 
safely wrapped in the close embraces of his daughter, 
who, assuming that authority which the circumstances 
demanded, ordered some of the assistants to convey him 
to the chariot, promising to follow in a few minutes. She 
lingered on the cliff, holding an old countryman’s arm, to 
witness probably the safety of those whose dangers she 
had shared. 

“ What hav^e we here said Oldbuck, as the vehicle 
once more ascended, “ What patched and weather- 
beaten matter is this Then, as the torches illumined 
the rough face and grey hairs of old Ochiltree, — “ What ! 
is it thou — come, old Mocker, I must needs be friends 
witli thee — but who the devil makes up your party be- 
sides 9” 

5 VOL. I. 


86 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ Ane that’s weel worth ony twa o’ us, Monkbarns— - 
it’s the young stranger lad they ca’ Lovel — and he’s be- 
haved this blessed night as if he had three lives to rely 
on, and was willing to waste them a’ rather than endanger 
ither folks — Ca’ hooly, sirs, as ye wad win an auld man’s 
blessing ! — mind there’s naebody below now to baud the 
gy — Hae a care o’ the Cat’s-lug-corner — bide weel aff 
Crummie’s-horn !” 

“ Have a care indeed,” echoed Oldbuck ; “ Wliat ‘ 
is it my rara avis — my black swan — my phoenix of com- 
panions in a post-chaise — take care of him, Muckle- 
backit.” 

“ As muckle care as if he were a greybeard o’ bran- 
dy ; and I canna take mair if his hair were like John 
Harlowe’s.— Yo ho, my hearts, bowse away with him I” 

Lovel did in fact run a much greater risk than any of 
his precursors. His weight was not sufficient to render 
his ascent steady amid such a storm of wind, and he 
swung like an agitated pendulum at the mortal risk of 
being dashed against the rocks. But he was young, bold, 
and active, and, with the assistance of the beggar’s stout 
piked staff, which he had retained by advice of the pro- 
prietor, contrived to bear himself from tlie face of the 
precipice, and the yet more hazardous projecting cliffs 
which varied its surface. Tossed in empty space, like an 
idle and unsubstantial feather, with a motion that agitated 
the brain at once with fear and with dizziness, he retain- 
ed his alertness of exertion and presence of mind ; and 
it was not until he was safely grounded upon the summit 
of the cliff, that he felt temporary and giddy sickness. 
As he recovered from a sort of half swoon, he cast his 
eyes eagerly around. The object which they would most 
willingly have sought was aheady in the act of vanishing 
Her white garment was just discernible as she followed 
on the path which her father had taken. She had lin- 
gered till she saw the last of their company rescued from 
danger, and until she had been assured by the hoarse 
voice of Mucklebackit, that “ the callant had come ofi 
wi’ unbrizzed banes, and that he was but in a kind o’ 


THE ANTIQ,UART* 


81 


dwam.” But Lovel was not aware that she had express 
ed in his fate even tiiis degree of interest, which, though 
nothing more than was due to a stranger who had assisted 
her in such an hour of peril, he would have gladly pur- 
chased by braving even more imminent danger than he 
had that evening been exposed to. The beggar she had 
already commanded to come to Knockvvinnock that night. 
He made an excuse, — “ Then to-morrow let me see 
you.” 

The old man promised to obey. Oldbuck thrust 
something into his hand — Ochiltree looked at it by the 
torch-light, and returned it. — “Na, na ! I never tak gowd 
— besides, Monkbarns, ye wad maybe be rueing it the 
morn.” Then turning to the group of fishermen and 
peasants, — ‘‘ Now, sirs, wha will gie me a supper and 
some clean pease-strae 

“ I,” “ and I,” “ and I,” answered many a ready 
voice. 

“ Aweel, since sae it is, and 1 can only sleep in ae barn 
at ance. I’ll gae down wi’ Saunders Mucklebackit— he 
has aye a soup o’ something comfortable about his biggin 
— and, bairns, I’ll maybe live to put ilka ane o’ ye in mind 
some ither night that ye hae promised me quarters and 
my awmous and away he went with the fisherman. 

Oldbuck laid the hand of strong possession on Lovel — 
“ Deil a stride ye’s go to F airport this night, young man 
—you must go home with me to Monkbarns. — Why, 
man, you have been a hero — a perfect Sir William Wal- 
lace by all accounts. — Come, my good lad, take hold ol 
my arm — 1 am not a prime support in such a wind — but 
Caxon shall help us out — Here, you old idiot, come on 
the other side of me. — And how the deil got you down 
to that infernal Bessie’s-apron, as they call it 9 — Bess, 
said they — why, curse her, she has spread out that vile 
pennon or banner of womankind, like all the rest of her 
sex, to allure her votaries to death and headlong ruin.” 

“ I have been pretty well accustomed to climbing, md 
I have long observed fowlers practise that pass dow: the 
clifi*.” 


88 


THE ANTIQ,UA11T. 


“ But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, came 
you to discover the danger of the pettish baronet and his 
far more deserving daughter 9” 

“ I saw them from the verge of the precipice.” 

“ From the verge ! — umph — And what possessed you 
dumosa pendere procul de rupe ? — though dumosa is no 
the appropriate epithet — What the deil, man, tempted ye 
to the verge of the craig 9” 

“ Why — I like to see the gathering and growling of a 
coming storm — or, in your own classical language, Mr. 

Oldbuck, suave marl magno and so forth — but here 

we reach the turn to Fairport. T must wish you good 

night.” 

“ Not a step, not a pace, not an inch, not a shath- 
mont, as I may say ; the meaning of which word has puz- 
zled many that think themselves antiquaries. I am clear 
we should read salmon-length for shathmonds-length. 
You are aware that the space allotted for the passage 
of a salmon through a dam, dike, or wier, by statute, is 
the length within which a full-grown pig can turn himself 
round — now I have a scheme to prove, that, as terrestrial 
objects were thus appealed to for ascertaining submarine 
measurement, so it must be supposed that the productions 
of the water were established as gages of the extent of 
land. — Shathmont — salmont — you see the close alliance 
of the sounds ; dropping out two Ids and a t, and assum- 
ing an /, makes the whole difference — I wish to Heaven 
no antiquarian derivation had demanded heavier conces- 
sions.” 

“ But, my dear sir, I really must go home — I am wet 
to the skin.” 

“ Shalt have my night-gown, man, and slippers, and 
catch the antiquarian fever as men do the plague, by 
wearing infected garments — nay, I know what you w’ould 
be at — you are afraid to put the old bachelor to charges. 
But is there not the remains of that glorious chicken-pie 
' — which, meo arbitrio, is better cold than hot — and that 
bottle of my oldest port, out of which the silly brain-sicli 
baronet (whom I cannot pardon, since he has escaped 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


89 


breaking his neck,) had just taken one glass, when his 
infirm noddle went a wool-gathering after Gamelyn de 
Guardover 

So saying, he dragged Level forward, till the Palm- 
er’s-port of Monkbarns received them. Never, perhaps, 
had it admitted two pedestrians more needing rest; for 
Monkbarns’ fatigue had been in a degree very contrary 
to his usual habits, and his more young and robust com- 
panion had that evening undergone agitation of mind 
which had harassed and wearied him even more than his 
extraordinary exertions of body. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ Be brave,” she cried, " you yet may be our guest 
Our haunted room was ever held the best. 

If, then, your valour can the sight sustain 
Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain ; 

If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, 

When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; 

If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 

I’ll see your sheets well air’d, and show the room.” 

Trtie Stoi'y. 

They reached the room in which they had dined, and 
were blamorously welcomed by Miss Oldbuck. 

‘‘ Where’s the younger womankind *?” said the Anti- 
quary. 

“ Indeed, brother, amang a’ the steery, Maria wadna 
be guided by me — she set away to the Halket-craig-head 
— I wonder ye didna see her.” 

« Eh • — what — what’s that you say, sister 9 — did the 
girl go out in a night like this to the Halket-head 9 — 
Good God ! the misery of the night is not ended yet !’* 

VOL. I. 


90 


THE ANTKttJAHTc 


“ But ye winna wait, Monkbarns— ye are so impera- 
tive and impatient” 

“ Tittle-tattle, woman,” said the impatient and agitat- 
ed Antiquary, “ where is my dear Mary*?” 

“ Just where ye suld be yoursell, Monkbarns — up 
stairs and in her warm bed 9” 

“ I could have sworn it,” said Oldbuck, laughing, but 
obviously much relieved, “ I could have sworn it — the 
lazy monkey did not care if we were all drowned togeth- 
er — why did you say she went out T’ 

‘‘ But ye wadna wait to hear out my tale, Monkbarns 
— she gaed out, and she came in again with the gardener 
sae sune as she saw that nane o’ ye were clodded ower 
the craig, and that Miss Wardour was safe hi the chariot 
• — she was hame a quarter of an hour syne, for it’s now 
ganging ten — sair droukit was she, puir thing, sae I e’en 
put a glass o’ sherry in her water-gruel.” 

“ Right, Grizel, right — let womankind alone for cod- 
dling each other. But hear ye, my venerable sister — 
Start not at the word venerable ; it implies many praise- 
worthy qualities besides age ; though that too is honour- 
able, albeit it is the last quality for which womankind 
would wish to be honoured — But perpend my words ; let 
Lovel and me have forthwith the reliques of the chicken- 
pie and the reversion of the port.” 

“ The chicken-pie — the port — ou dear ! brother — 
there was but a wheen banes, and scarce a drap o’ the 
wine.” 

The Antiquary’s countenance became clouded, though 
he was too well bred to give way, in the presence of a 
stranger, to his displeased surprise at the disappearance 
of the viands on which he had reckoneij with absolute 
certainty. But his sister understood these looks of ire. 

Ou dear ! Monkbarns, what’s the use of making a 
ivark T’ 

‘‘ I make no wark, as ye call it, woman.” 

“ But what's the use o’ looking sae glum and glunch 
about a pickle banes — an ye will hae the truth, ye 
maun ken the minister came in, worthy man — sair dis- 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


91 


tressed he was, nae doubt, about your precaurious situation, 
ac be ca’d it, (for ye ken bow weel he’s gifted wi’ words) 
and here be wad bide till be could bear wi’ certainty how 
the matter was likely to gang wi’ ye a’ — He said fine 
things on the duty of resignation to Providence’s will, 
worthy man ! that did he.” 

Oldbuck replied, catching the same tone, Worthy 
man ! — he cared not how soon Monkbarns had devolved 
on an heir female, I’ve a notion — and while he was occu- 
pied in this Christian office of consolation against impend- 
ing evil, I reckon that the chicken-pie and my good port 
disappeared 9” 

“ Dear brother, how can you speak of sic frivolities, 
when you have had sic an escape from the craig 9” 

“ Better than my supper has had from the minister’s 
craig, Grizzie — it’s all discusse'd, I suppose 9” 

Hout, Monkbarns, ye speak as if there was nae mair 
meat in the house — wad ye not have had me offer the 
honest man some slight refreshment after his walk frae 
tlie manse 9” 

Oldbuck half-whistled, half-hummed, the end of the old 
Scottish ditty, 

“ O, first they eated the white puddings, 

And then they eated the black, O, 

And thought the gudeman unto himsell, 

. The deil clink down wi' that, Ol” 


His sister hastened to silence his murmurs, by propos- 
ing some of the reliques of the dinner. He spoke ol 
another bottle of wine, but recommended in preference 
a glass of brandy which was really excellent. As no 
entreaties could prevail on Lovel to indue the velvet night- 
cap and branched morning-gown of his host, Oldbuck, 
who pretended to a little knowledge of the medical art, 
insisted on his going to bed as soon as possible, and pro- 
posed to despatch a messenger (the indefatigable Caxon) 
to Fairport early in the morning, to p’ ocure him a change 
of clothes. 


92 


THE ANTIQ^UAKT. 


This was the first intlination Miss Oldbuck had receiv 
ed that tlie young str*anger was to be their g.iest for the 
night ; and such was the surprise with wljich she was 
struck by a proposal so uncommon, that, had the superin 
CLimbent weight of her head-dress, such as we before 
described, been less preponderant, her grey locks must 
have started up’ on end, and hurl’d it from its position. 

“ Lord baud a care o’ us !” exclaimed the astounded 
maiden. 

“ What’s the matter now, Grizel 9” 

“ Wad ye but just speak a moment, Monkbarns 9” 

“ Speak ! — What should I speak about "1 — I want to 
get to my bed — and this poor young fellow — let a bed be 
made ready for him instantly.” 

“ A bed 1 — The Lord preserve us,” again ejaculated 
Grizel. 

‘‘ Why, what’s the matter now are there not beds and 
rooms enough in the house 9 Was it not an ancient hospi- 
tium, in which I am warranted to say, beds were nightly 
made down for a score of pilgrims 9” 

“ O dear, Monkbarns ! wha kens what they might do 
lang syne ^ — but in our time — beds — ay, troth, there’s 
beds enow sic as they are — and rooms enow too — but ye 
ken yoursell the beds hae na been slee])it in. Lord kens 
the lime, nor the rooms aired. — If 1 had kenn’d, Mary 
and me might hae gane down to the manse — Miss Beckie 
is aye fond to see us (and sae is the minister, brother) — 

but now, glide save us !” 

“ Is there not the Green Room, Grizel 9” 

Troth is there, and it is in decent order too, though 

naebody has sleepit there since Dr. Heavysterne, and” 

“ And what T’ 

‘‘ And wliat ! I’m sure ye ken yoursell what a night he 
had — ye wadna expose the young gentleman to the like 
o’ that, wad ye 

Lovel interfered upon hearing this altercation, and 
protested he would far rather walk home than put them 
to the least inconvenience — that the exercise would be of 
service to him — that he knew the road perfectly, by night 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


93 


or day, to Fairport — that the storm was abating, and so 
forth ; adding all that civility could suggest as an excuse 
for escaping from a hospitality which seemed more incon- 
venient to his host than he could possibly have anticipated. 
But the howling of the wind, and pattering of the' rain 
against the windows, with his knowledge of the preced- 
ing fatigues of the evening, must have prohibited Old- 
huck, even had he entertained less regard for his young 
friend than he really felt, from permitting him to depart. 
Besides he was piqued in honour to show that he himself 
was not governed by womankind — “ Sit ye down, sit ye 
down, sit ye down, man,” he reiterated ; “ an ye part so, 
I would I might never draw a cork again, and here comes 
out one from a prime bottle of — strong ale — right anno 
domini — none of your Wassia Quassia decoctions, but 
brewed of Monkbarns barley — John of the Girnel never 
drew a better flagon to entertain a wandering minstrel, or 
palmer, with the freshest news from Palestine. — And to 
remove from your mind the slightest wish to depart, know, 
that if you do so, your character as a gallant knight is 
gone forever — Why, ’tis an adventure, man, to sleep in the 
Green Room at Monkbarns — Sister, pray see it got ready 
— And, although the bold adventurer, Heavysterne, 
dree’d pain and dolour in that charmed apartment, it is 
no reason why a gallant knight like you, nearly twice as 
tall, and not half so heavy, should not encounter and 
break the spell.” 

“ What ! a haunted apartment, I suppose 9” 

“ To be sure, to be sure — every mansion in this coun- 
try of the slightest antiquity has its ghosts and its haunted 
chamber, and you must not suppose us worse off than 
our neighbours. They are going, indeed, somewhat out 
of fashion, 1 have seen the day when, if you had doubt- 
ed the reality of the ghost in an old manor-house, you 
ran the risk of being made a ghost yourself, as Hamlet 
says — Yes, if you had challenged the existence of Red- 
cowl, in the Castle of Glenstirym, old Sir Peter Pepper- 
b»-and would have had ye out to his court-yard, made you 
betake yourself to your weapon, and if your trick of fence 


94 


THE ANTKiUAllY. 


were not the better, would have sticked you like a pad 
dock, on his own baronial iniddenstead. 1 once narrow 
ly escaped such an affray — But I humbled myself and 
apologized to Redcowl ; for even in my younger days, i 
was no friend to the monomachia, or duel, and would 
rather walk with Sir Priest than with Sir Knight, I care 
not who knows so much of my valour — thank God I am 
old now, and can indulge my irritabilities without the 
necessity of supporting them by cold steel.” 

Here Miss Oldbuck re-entered, with a singularly sage 
expression of countenance. “ Mr. Lovel’s bed’s ready, 
brother — clean sheets — weel air’d — a spunk of fire in the 
chimney — I am sure, Mr. Lovel, (addressing him,) it's 
no for the trouble — and 1 hope you will have a good night’s 
rest — But” 

“ You are resolved,” said the Antiquary, to do what 
you can to prevent it.” 

“ Me ^ — I am sure I have said naething, Monkbarns.” 

“ My dear madam,” said Lovel, “ allow me to ask 
you the meaning of your obliging anxiety on my account. ” 

“ Ou, Monkbarns does not like to hear of it — but he 
kens himsell that the room has an ill name. It’s weel 
minded that it was there auld Rab Tull, the town-clerk, 
was sleeping when he had that marvellous communication 
about the grand law-plea between us and the feuars at the 
Mussel-craig. It had cost a hantle siller, Mr. Lovel ; for 
law-pleas were no carried on without siller lang syne 
mail' than they are now — and the Monkbarns of that day 
— our gudesire, Mr. Lovel, as 1 said before — was like 
to be waured afore the session for want of a paper — 
Monkbarns there kens weel what paper it was, but Pse 
warrant he’ll no help me out wi’ my tale — but it was a 
paper of great significance to the plea, and we were to 
be waured for want o’t. Aweel, the cause was to come 
on before the fifteen — in presence, as they ca’t — and 
auld Rab Tull, the town-clerk, he cam ower to make a 
'ast search for the paper that was wanting, before our 
gudesire gaed into Edinburgh to look after his plea — so 
there was little time to come and gang on— He was but 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


95 


R doited snnfFy body, Rab, as Pve beard — But then he 
was the town-clerk of Fairport, and the Monkbarns heri- 
tors aye employed him on account of their connection wj’ 
the burgh, ye ken.” 

“ Sister 0rizel, this is abominable,” interrupted Old- 
buck ; “ I vow to Heaven ye might have raised the ghosts 
of every Abbot of Trotcosey, since the days of Waldimir 
in the time you have been detailing the introduction tathis 
single spectre — Learn to be succinct in your narrative — 
Imitate the concise style of old Aubrey, an experienced 
ghost-seer, who entered his memoranda on these subjects 
in a terse business-like manner ; exempli gratia — ‘ At 
Cirencester, 5th March, 1670, was an apparition — Being 
demanded whether good spirit or bad, made no answer, 
but instantly disappeared with a curious perfume, and a 
melodious twang.’ — Vide his Miscellanies, p. eighteen, 
as well as I can remember, and near the middle of the 
page.” 

“ O, Monkbarns, man ! do ye think every body is as 
book-learned as yoursell ? — but ye like to gar folk look 
like fools — ye can do that to Sir Arthur, and the minister 
his very sell.” 

“ Nature has been beforehand with me, Grizel, in 
both these instances, and in another which shall be name- 
less ; — but take a glass of ale, Grizel, and proceed with 
your story, for it waxes late.” 

“ Jenny’s just warming your bed, Monkbarns, and ye 
maun e’en wait till she is done. — Weel, I was at the 
search that our gudesire, Monkbarns that then was, made 
wi’ Rab Tull’s assistance ; — but ne’er-be-lickit could they 
find that was to their purpose. And sae after they had 
touzled out mony a leather poke-full o’ papers, the town- 
clerk had his drap punch at e’en to wash the dust out of 
his throat — we never were glass-breakers in this house, 
Mr. Lovel, but the body had got sic a trick of sippling 
and tippling wi’ the baillies and deacons when they met 
(which was amaist ilka night) concerning the common 
gude o’ the- burgh, that he couldna weel sleep without it 
—But his punch he gat, and to bed he gaed — and in tlie 


96 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


middle of the night he gat a fearfu’ wakening ! — he was 
never just himsell after it, and he was strucken wf the 
dead palsy that very day four years — He thought, Mr. 
Lovel, that he heard the curtains o’ his bed fissil, and 
out he lookit, fancying, puir man, it might ^ae been the 
cat — But he saw — God hae a care o’ us, it gars my flesh 
aye creep, though I hae tauld the story twenty times — 
he saw a weel-fa’ard auld gentleman standing by his bed- 
side, in the moonlight, in a queer-fashioned dress, wi’ 
mony a button and band-string about it, and ^hat part 
o’ his garments, which it does not become a leddj to par- 
ticulareeze, was baith side and wide, and as mony plies o’t 
as of ony Hamburgh skipper’s — He had a beard too, and 
whiskers turned upwards on his upper-lip, as lang as 
Baudron’s— and mony mair particulars there were that 
Rab Tull tauld o’, but they are forgotten now — -it’s an 
auld story.— Aweel, Rab was a just-living man for a conn 
try writer — and he was less tear’d than maybe might just 
hae been expected — and he asked in the name o’ good- 
ness what the apparition wanted — and the spirit answer- 
ed in an unknown tongue. — Then Rab said he tried him 
wi’ Erse, for he cam in his youth frae the Braes of Glen- 
livat — but it wadna do— Aweel, in this strait, he bethought 
him of the twa or three words o’ Latin that he used in 
making out the town’s deeds, and he had nae sooner tried 
the spirit wi’ that, than out cam sic a blatter o’ Latin about 
his lugs, that poor Rab Tull, wha was nac great scholar, 
was clean owerwhelmcd. Odd, but he was abauld body, 
and he minded the Latin name for the deed that he was 
wanting. It was something about a cart I fancy, for the 
ghaist cried aye, Carter^ carter^^ 

“ Carta, you transformer of languages,” cried Old 
buck ; ‘‘ if my ancestor had learned no other language in 
the other world, at least he would not forget the Latinity 
for which he was so famous while in this.” 

“ Weel, weel, carta be it then, but they ca’d it carter 
that tell’d me the story — It cried aye carta, if sae be that 
it was carta, and made a sign to Rab to follow it. Rab 
Tull keepit a Highland heart, and bang’d out o’ bed, ancf 


THE ANTiq,UARY. 


97 


till some of his readiest claes — and he did follow the thing 
up stairs and down stairs to the place we ca’ the high 
dow-cot, (a sort of a little tower in the corner of the auld 
house, where there was a rickle o’ useless boxes and 
trunks,) and there the ghaist gae Rah a kick wi’ the tae 
foot, and a kick wi’ the tother, to that very auld east- 
country tabernacle of a cabinet that my brother has 
standing beside his library table, and then disappeared 
like a fulF o’ tobacco, leaving Rab in a very pitiful condi- 
tion.” 

“ Tenues secessit in auras quoth Oldbuck, “ Marry, ■■ 
sir, mansit odor — But, sure enough, the deed was there 
found in a drawer of this forgotten repository, which con- 
tained many other curious old papers, now properly label- 
led and arranged, and which seem to have belonged to 
my ancestor, the first possessor of Monkbarns. The 
deed, thus strangely recovered, was the original Charter 
of Erection of the Abbey, Abbey Lands, and so forth, 
of Trotcosey, comprehending Monkbarns and others, into 
a Lordship of Regality in favour of the first Earl of Glen^- 
gibber, a favourite of James the Sixth. It is subscribed 
by the King at Westminster, the seventeenth day of Jan- 
uary, A. D. one thousand six hundred and twelv^e — 
thirteen. It’s not worth while to repeat the witnesses’ 
names.” 

“ I would rather,” said Lovel, with awakened curi- 
osity, “ I would rather hear your opinion of the way in 
which the deed was discovered.” 

“ Why, if I wanted a patron for my legend, I could 
find no less a one than Saint Augustine,who tells the story 
of a deceased person appearing to his son, when sued for 
a debt which had been paid, and directing him where to 
find the discharge.^ But I rather opine with Lord Bacon, 
who says that imagination is much akin to miracle-work- 
ing faith. There was always some idle story of the 
room being haunted by the spirit of Aldobrand Olden- 
buck, my great-great-great-grandfather — it’s a shame tc 
tlie English language that we have not a less clumsy way 

VOL. I. 


98 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


of expressing relationship, of which we have occasion to 
think and speak so frequently — he was a foreigner, and 
wore his national dress, of which tradition had preserved 
an accurate description ; and indeed there is a print ol 
him, supposed to be by Reginald Elstracke, pulling the 
press with his own hand, as it works off the sheets of his 
scarce edition of the Augsburg Confession. He was a 
chemist, as well as a good mechanic, and either of these 
qualities in this country was at that time sufficient to con- 
stitute a white witch at least. This superstitious old 
writer had heard all this, and probably believed it, and 
in his sleep the image and idea of my ancestor recalled 
that of his cabinet, which, with the grateful attention to 
antiquities and the memory of our ancestors not unusual- 
ly met with, had been pushed into the pigeon-house to be 
out of the way — Add a quantum sufficit of exaggeration, 
and you have a key to the whole mystery.” 

Oh, brother, brother ! But Dr. Heavysterne, brother 
— whose sleep was so sore broken, that he declared he 
vvadna pass another night in the Green Room to get all 
Monkbarns so that JMary and I were forced to yield 
our” 

“ Why, Grizel, the doctor is a good, honest, pudding- 
headed German, of much merit in his own way, but fond of 
the mystical, like many of his countrymen. You and he 
had a traffick the whole evening, in which you received 
tales ol Mesmer, Shropfer, Cagliostro, and other modern 
pretenders to the mystery of raising spirits, discovering 
hidden treasure, and so forth, in exchange for your le- 
gends of the green bed-chamber — and considering that 
ihe lUustrissimus ate a pound and a half of Scotch col- 
lops to supper, smoked six pipes, and drank ale and 
brandy in proportion, I am not surprised at his having a 
fit of the night-mare — But everything is now ready. 
I’ermit me to light you to your apartment, Mr. Lovel — J 
am sure you have need of rest — and I trust my ancestor 
is too sensible of the duties of hospitality to interfere with 
the repose which you have so well merited by your 
manly and gallant behaviour.” 


THE ANTIQ,TJARY. 


99 


So saying, the Antiquary took up a led-room candle- 
stick of massive silver and antique form, which, he observ- 
ed, was wrought out of the silver found in the mines of the 
Harz mountains, and had been the property of the very 
personage who had supplied them with a subject for con- 
versation. And having so said, he led the way through 
many a dusky and winding passage, now ascending and 
anon descending again, until he came to the apartment 
destined for his young guest. 


CHAPTER X. 

When midnight o'er the moonless skies 
Her pall of transient death hzts spread, 

When mortals sleep, when spectres rise, 

And none are wakeful but the dead ; 

No bloodless shape my way pursues. 

No sheeted ghost my couch annoys. 

Visions more sad my fancy views, — 

Visions of long-departed joys. 

W. R. Sjpenser, 

When they reached the Green Room, as it was called, 
Olilbuck placed the candle on the toilet-table, before a 
huge mirror with a black japanned frame, surrounded by 
dressing-boxes of the same, and looked around him with 
something of a disturbed expression of countenance. “ I 
am seldom in this apartment,” he said, “ and never with- 
out yielding to a melancholy feeling — not, of course, on 
account of the childish nonsense that Grizel was telling 
V'ou, but owing to circumstances of an early and unhappy 
attachment. It is at such moments as these, Mr. Lovel, 
that we feel the changes of time. The same objects are 
before us — those inanimate things which we have gazed 
on in wayward infancy and impetuous youth, in anxious 
and scheming manhood — they are permanent and the ^ 


100 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


same ; but when we look upon them in cold unfeeling 
old age, can we, changed in our temper, our pursuits, 
our feelings — changed in our form, our liinhs, and our 
strength, — can we be ourselves called the same or do 
we not rather look back with a sort of wonder upon our 
former selves, as beings separate and distinct from what 
we now are % Tire philosopher, who appealed from 
Philip inflamed with wine to Philip in his hours of sobrie- 
ty, did not choose a judge so different, as if he had ap- 
pealed from Philip in his youth to Philip in his old age, 
I cannot but be touched wdth the feelings so beautifully 
expressed in a poem which I have heard repeated 


My eyes arc dim with childish tears, 

My heart is idly stirr’d, 

For the same sound is in my ears 
Which in those days I heard. 

Thus fares it still in our decay ; 

And yet the wiser mind 
Mourns less for what time takes away, 

'I’han what he leaves behind. 

Well, time cures every wound, and though the scar may 
remain and occasionally ache, yet the earliest agony of its 
recent infliction is felt no more.” — So saying, he shook 
Lovel cordially by the hand, wished him good night, and 
took his leave. 

Step after step Lovel could trace his host’s retreat 
along the various passages, and each door which he closed 
behind him fell with a sound more distant and dead. The 
guest, thus separated from the living world, took up the 
candle and surveyed the apartment. The fire blazed 
cheerfully. Mrs. Grizel’s attention had left some fresh 
wood, should he choose to continue it, and the apartment 
bad a comfortable, though not a lively appearance. Il 
was hung with tapestry, which the looms of Arras had 
iroduced in the sixteenth century, and which the learned 


Probably Wordsworth’s L3rrical Ballads had not as yet been published 


THE ANTKtUART. 


101 


typographer, so often mentioned, had brought with him as 
a sample of tlie arts of tlie continent. The subject was 
a hunting-piece ; and as the leafy boughs of the forest- 
trees, branching over the tapestry, formed the predomi- 
nant colour, the apartment had thence acquired its name 
of the Green Chamber. Grim figures, in the old Flem- 
ish dress, with slashed doublets, covered with ribands, 
short cloaks, and trunk-hose, were engaged in holding 
greyhounds or stag-hounds in the leash, or cheering tJ5eni 
upon the objects of their game. Others, with boar-spears, 
swords, and old-fashioned guns, were attacking stags or 
boars whom they had brought to bay. The branches of 
the woven forest were crowded with fowls of various 
kinds, each depicted with its proper plumage. It seemed 
as if the prolific and rich invention of old Chaucer had 
animated the Flemish artist with its profusion, and Old- 
buck had accordingly caused the following verses, from 
that ancient and excellent poet, to be embroidered in 
Gothic letters, on a sort of border which he had added 
to the tapestry : — 

1.0 ! here be oakis grete, slreight as a lime, 

Under the which the grass, so fresh of line, 

Be’lh newly sprung — at eight foot or nine. 

Everich tree well frcm his fellow grew, 

Willi branches broad laden with leaves new, 

That sprongen out against the sonne sheene, 

Some golden red, and some a glad bright green. 


A.nd m another canton was the following similar legend * 


And many an hart, and many an hind. 
Was both before me and behind. 

Of fawns, sownders, bucks, and does 
Was full the wood, and many roes. 
And many squirrells that ysate 
High on the trees and nuts ale. 


The bed was of a dark and faded green, wrought to 
correspond with the tapestry, but by a more modern and 

VOL. 1. 


102 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


less skilful hand. The large and heavy stuff-bottomed 
chairs, with black ebony backs, were embroidered after 
the same pattern, and a lofty mirror, over the antique 
chimney-piece, corresponded in its mounting witli that on 
the old-fashioned toilet. 

“ I have heard,” muttered Lovel, as he took a cursory 
view of the room and its furniture, “ that ghosts often 
chose the best room in the mansion to which they attach- 
ed themselves, and I cannot disapprove of the taste oi 
the disembodied printer of the Augsburg Confession.” 
But he found it so difficult to fix his mind upon the stories 
which had been told him of an apartment, with which they 
seemed so singularly to correspond, that he almost re- 
gretted the absence of those agitated feelings, half fear 
half curiosity, which sympathize with the old legends of 
awe and wonder, from which the anxious reality of his 
own hopeless’ passion at present detached him. For he 
now only felt emotions like those expressed in the lines, — 

Ah ! cruel maid, how hast thou changed 
The temper of my mind ! 

My heart, by thee from all estranged, 

Becomes like thee unkind. 

He endeavoured to conjure up something like the feel- 
ings which would, at another time, have been congenial 
to his situation, but his heart had no room for these vaga- 
ries of imagination. The recollection of Miss Wardour, 
determined not to acknowledge him when compelled to 
endure his society, and evincing her purpose to escape 
from it, wmuld have alone occupied his imagination ex- 
clusively. But with this were united recollections more 
agitating if less painful — her hair-breadth escape — the 
fortunate assistance which he had been able to render her 
— Yet, what was his requital 9 — She left the cliff while 
his fate was yet doubtful, while it w^as uncertain whether 
her preserver had not lost the life which he had exposed 
for her so freely. — Surely gratitude, at least, called for 
some little interest in his fate — But no — she could not be 
selfish or unjust — it was no part of her nature. She 


THE ANTIQ,TJAnT. 


103 


only desired lo shut the door against hoi^e, and, even in 
compassion lo him, to extinguish a passion which she 
could never return. 

But this lover-like mode of reasoning was not likely to 
reconcile him to his fate, since the more amiable his im- 
agination presented Miss Wardour, the more inconsolable 
he felt he should be rendered by the extinction of his 
hopes. He was, indeed, conscious of possessing the 
power of removing her prejudices on some points ; but, 
evep in extremity, he determined to keep the original de- 
termination which he had formed, of ascertaining that she 
desired an explanation ere he intruded one upon her 
And turn the matter as he would, he could not regard his 
suit as desperate. There was something of embarrass- 
ment as well as of grave surprise in her look when Old- 
buck presented him, and, perhaps, upon second thoughts, 
the one was assumed to cover the other. He would not 
relinquish a pursuit which had already cost him such 
pains. Plans, suiting the romantic temper of the brain 
that entertained them, chased each other through his head, 
thick and irregular as the motes of the sun-beam, and 
long after he had laid himself to rest, continued to prevent 
the repose which he greatly needed. Then, wearied by 
the uncertainty and difficulties with which each scheme 
appeared to be attended, he bent up his mind to the strong 
effort of shaking off his love ‘‘ like dew-drops from the 
lion’s mane,” and resuming those studies and that career 
of life which his unrequited affection had so long and so 
fruitlessly interrupted. In this last resolution, he endeav- 
oured to fortify himself by every argument which pride, 
as well as reason, could suggest. “ She shall not sup 
pose,” he said, “ that, presuming on an accidental service 
to her or to her father, I am desirous to intrude myself 
upon that notice, to which, personally, she considered me 
as having no title. I will see her no more. 1 will return 
to the land which, if it affords none fairer, has at least 
many as fair, and less haughty than Miss Wardour. To- 
morrow I will bid adieu to these northern shores, and tc 
lier who is as cold and relentless as her climate.” When 


104 


THE ANTIQ,rARY< 


he had for some time brooded over this sturdy lesolution, 
exhausted nature at length gave way, and, despite ol 
wrath, doubt, and anxiety, he sunk into slumber. 

It is seldom that sleep, after such violent agitation, is 
either sound or refreshing. LovePs was disturbed by a 
thousand baseless and confused visions. He was a bird 
— he was a fish — or he flew like the one, and swam like 
the other, — qualities which would have been very essen- 
tial to his safety a few hours before. Then Miss War- 
dour was a syren, or a bird of paradise ; her father a 
triton, or a sea-gull ; and Oldbuck alternately a porpoise 
and a cormorant. These agreeable imaginations were 
varied by all the usual vagaries of a feverish dream ; the 
air refused to bear the visionary, the water seemed to 
burn him — the rocks felt like down-pillows as he was 
dashed against them — whatever he undertook failed in 
some strange and unexpected manner — and whatever at- 
tracted his attention, underwent, as he attempted to in- 
vestigate it, some wild and wonderful metamorphosis 
while his mind continued all the while in some degree 
conscious of the delusion, from which it in vain struggled 
to free itself by awaking — feverish symptoms all, with 
which those who are haunted by the night-hag, whom the 
learned call Ephialtes, are but too well acquainted. At 
length these crude phantasmata arranged themselves into 
something more regular, if indeed the imagination of 
Lovel, after he awoke, (for it was by no means the faculty 
in which his mind was least rich) did not gradually, insen- 
sibly, and unintentionally, arrange in better order the 
scene, of which his sleep presented, it may be, a less dis- 
tinct outline. Or it is possible that his feverish agitation 
may have assisted him in forming the vision. 

Leaving this discussion to the learned, we will say, that, 
after a succession of wild images, such as we have above' 
described, our hero, for such we must acknowledge h'm, 
so far regained a consciousness of locality as to remem- 
ber where he was, and the whole furniture of the Green 
Chamber was depicted to his slumbering eye. And here, 
once more, let me protest, that if there should be so mucli 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


105 


old-fashioned faith left among this shrewd and sceptica 
generation, as to suppose that what follows was an im- 
pression conveyed rather by the eye than by the imagi- 
nation, 1 do not impugn their doctrine. He wai then, or 
imagined himself, broad awake in the Green Chamber, 
gazing upon the flickering and occasional flame which 
the unconsumed remnants of the faggots sent forth, as, 
one by One, they fell down upon the red embers, into 
which the principal part of the boughs to which they be- 
longed had crumbled away. Insensibly the legend of Al- 
dobrand Oldenbuck, and his mysterious visits to the in- 
mates of the chamber, awoke in his mind, and with it, as 
we often feel in dreams, an anxious and fearful expecta- 
tion, which seldom fails instantly to summon up before 
our mind’s eye the object of our fear. Brighter sparkles 
of light flashed from the chimney with such intense bril- 
liancy, as to enlighten all the room. The tapestry waved 
wildly on the wall, till its dusky form seemed to become 
animated. The hunters blew their horns — the stag seem- 
ed to fly, the boar to resist, and the hounds to assail the 
one and pursue the other ; the cry of deer, mangled by 
throttling dogs — the shouts of men, and the clatter of 
horses’ hoofs, seemed at once to surround him — while 
every group pursued, with all the fury of the chase, the 
employment in which the artist had represented them as 
engaged. Lovel looked on this strange scene devoid 
of wonder, (which seldom intrudes itself upon the sleep- 
ing fancy,) but with an anxious sensation of awful fear. 
Vt length an individual figure among the tissued hunts- 
men, as he gazed upon them more fixedly, seemed to 
leave the arras and to approach the bed of the slumber- 
er. As he drew near, his figure appeared to alter. His 
bugle-horn became a brazen clasped volume ; his 
hunting-cap changed to such a furred head-gear as graces 
the burgo-masters of Rembrandt ; his Flemish garb re- 
mained, but his features, no longer agitated with the fury 
of the* chase, were changed to such a state of awful and 
stern composure, as might best portray the first proprie- 
tor of Monkbarns, such as he had been described to 


106 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


Lovel by his descendants in the course of the preceding 
evening. As this metamorphosis took place, the hubbub 
among the other personages in the arras disappeared from 
the imagination of the dreamer, which was now exclusive 
ly bent on the single figure before him. Lovel strove 
to interrogate this awful person in the form of exorcism 
proper for the occasion, but his tongue, as is usual in 
frightful dreams, refused its oflice, and clung, palsied, to 
the roof of his mouth. Aldobrand held up his finger, as 
if to impose silence upon the guest who had intruded on 
his apartment, and began deliberately to unclasp the ven- 
erable volume wdiich occupied his left hand. When it 
was unfolded, he turned over the leaves hastily for a short 
space, and then raising his figure to its full dimensions, and 
holding the book aloft in his left hand, pointed to a pas- 
sage in the page which he thus displayed. Although the 
language was unknown to our dreamer, his eye and atti^n- 
tion were both strongly caught by the line which the figure 
seemed thus to press upon his notice, the words of which 
appeared to blaze with a supernatural light, and remained 
rivetted upon his memory. As the vision shut his vol- 
ume, a strain of delightful music seemed to fill the apart- 
ment— Lovel started, and became completely awake. 
The music, however, was still in his ears, nor ceased till ^ 
he could distinctly follow the measure of an old Scottish 
tune. 

He sat up in bed, and endeavoured to clear his brain 
of the phantoms which had disturbed it during this weary 
night. The beams of the morning sun streamed through 
the half-closed shutters, and admitted a distinct light into 
the apartmenf. He looked round upon the hangings, but 
the mixed groups of silken and worsted huntsmen were 
as stationary as tenter-hooks could make them, and only 
trembled slightly as the early breeze, which found its way 
through an open crevice of the latticed window, glided 
along their surface. Lovel leapt out of bed, and, wrap- 
ping himself in a morning-gown, that had been consider- 
ately laid by his bed-side, stepped towards the window, 
which commanded a view of the sea. the roar of whose 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


107 


billows announced it still disquieted by the storm of the 
preceding evening, although the morning was fair and 
serene. The window of a turret, which projected at an 
angle with the wall, and thus.came to be very near Level’s 
apartment, was half open, and from that quarter he heard 
again the same music which^ had probably broken short 
his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much 
of its charms — it was now nothing more than an air on the 
harpsichord, tolerably well performed — such is the caprice 
of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A female voice 
sung, with some taste and great simplicity, something 
between a song and a hymn, in words to the following 
effect : — 

Why sU’st thou by that ruin'd hall, 

Thou aged carle so stern and grey 7 
Dost thou its former pride recall, 

Or ponder how it pass’d away 7” — 

“ Know’st thou not me !” the Deep Voice cried ; 

So long enjoy’d, so oft misused — 

Alternate, in thy fickle pride. 

Desired, neglected, and accus^ 7 

Before my breath, like blazing flax, 

Man and his marvels pass away ; 

And changing empires wane and wax. 

Are founded, flourish, and decay. 

‘‘ Redeem mine hours — the space is brief— 

While in my glass the sand-grains shiver^ 

And measureless thy joy or grief. 

When Time and thou shalt part forever 

While the verses were yet singing, Lovel had returned 
to his bed ; the train of ideas which they awakened was 
romantic and pleasing, such as his soul delighted in, and 
willingly adjourning, till more broad day, the doubtful task 
of determining on his future line of conduct, he aban- 
doned himself to the pleasing languor inspired by the 
music, and fell into a sound and refreshing sleep, from 
which he was only awakened at a late hour by old Caxon, 


108 


THE AXTIC^UART. 


who came creeping into the room to render tlie offices of 
a valet-de-chambre. 

“ I have brushed your coat, sir,” said the old man, when 
he perceived Lovel was awake : “ the callant brought it 
frae Fairport this morning, for that ye had on yesterday 
is scantly feasibly dry, though it’s been a’ niglit at the 
kitchen fire — and I hae cleaned your shoon — I doubt ye’il 
no be wanting me to tie your hair, for (with a gentle sigh) 
a’ the young gentlemen wear crops now — but I hae the 
curling-tangs here to gie it a bit turn ower the brow, if 
ye like, before ye gae down to the leddies.” 

Lovel, who was by this time once more on his legs, 
declined the old man’s professional offices, but accompa- 
nied the refusal with such a douceur as completely sweet- 
ened Caxon’s mortification. 

“ It’s a pity he disna get his hair tied and pouthered,” 
said the ancient fi'izeur, when he had got once more into 
the kitchen, in which, on one pretence or other, he spent 
three parts of his idle time — that is to say, of his whole 
time — “ it’s a great pity, for he’s a comely young gen- 
tleman.” A 

“ Hout awa, ye auld gowk,” said Jenny Rintherout, 
“ wad ye creesh his bonny browm hair wi’ your nasty ulyie, 
and then moiist it like the auld minister’s wdg 9 — Ye’ll be 
for your breakfast, I’se warrant — hae, there’s a soup 
parritch for ye — it will set ye better to be slaistering at 
them and the lapper-milk than middling wi’ Mr. Level’s 
head — ye wad spoil the maist natural and beautifaest head 
o’ hair in a’ Fairport, baith burgh and county.” 

The poor barber sighed over the disrespect into which 
his art had so universally fallen, but Jenny was a person 
too important to offend by contradiction ; so sitting quiet- 
ly down in tlie kitchen, he digested at once his humiliation, 
and the contends of a bicker which held a Scotch pint of 
substantial oatmeal porridge. 


THE ANTIQ,UARY« 


109 


CHAPTER XI. 


Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this pageant sent, 

And ordered all the pageants as they went : 

Sometimes that only Uwas wild Fancy's play,— 

The loose and scatter’d reliques of the day. 

V E must now request our readers to adjourn to the 
oreakfast-parlour of Mr. Old buck, who, despising the 
modern slops of tea and coffee, was substantially regaling 
himself, more majorum, with cold roast-beef, and a glass 
of a sort of beverage called mum, a species of fat ale, 
brewed from wheat and bitter herbs, of which the present 
generation only know the name by its occurrence in 
revenue acts of Parliament, coupled wdth cider, perry, 
and other exciseable commodities. Lovel, who was se- 
duced to taste it, with difficulty refrained from pronounc- 
ing it detestable, but did refrain, as he saw he should 
otherwise give great offence to his host, who had the 
liquor annually prepared with peculiar care, according to 
the approved recipe bequeathed to him by the so-often 
mentioned Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospitality of 
the ladies offered Lovel a breakfast more suited to mod- 
ern taste, and while he was engaged in partaking of it, he 
was assailed by indirect inquiries concerning the manner 
in which he had passed tlie night. 

“ We canna compliment Mr. Lovel on his looks this 
morning, brother — but he winna condescend on ony 
ground of disturbance he has had in the night time — I am 
certain he looks very pale, and when he came here he 
was as fresh as a rose.” 

“ Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been 
knocked about by sea and wind all yesterday evening as 
if he had been a bunch of kelp or tangle, and how the 
devil would you have him retain his colour 9” 

6 VOL. I. 


110 


THE ANTIQUE ARV. 


“ I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued,” said 
Lovel, “ notwithstanding the excellent accommodations 
with which your hospitality so amply supplied me.” 

“ Ah, sir !” said Miss Oldbuck, looking at him with a 
knowing smile, or what was meant to be one, “ ye’ll not 
allow of ony inconvenience, out of civility to us.” 

“ Really, madam,” replied Lovel, “ 1 had no disturb- 
ance ; for I cannot term such the music with which some 
kind fairy favoured me.” 

“ I doubted Mary wad waken you wi’ her skreighing 
she didna ken 1 had left open a chink of your window, 
for, forbye the ghaist, the Green Room disna vent w^eel 
ima high wind — But, I am judging, ye heard mair than 
Mary’s lilts yestreen— weel, men are hardy creatures, 
they can gae through wi’ a’ thing. I am sure had I been 
to undergo ony thing of that nature, — that’s to say that’s 
beyond nature — I would hae skreigh’d out at once, and 
raised the house, be the consequence what liket — and, 1 
dare say, the minister wad hae done as mickle, and sae ] 
hae tauld him, — 1 ken naebody but my brother. Monk- 
barns himsell, wad gae through the like o’t, if, indeed, it 
binna you, Mr. Lovel.” 

“ A man of Mr. Oldbuck’s learning, madam,” answer- 
ed the questioned party, “ would not be exposed to the 
inconvenience sustained by the Highland gentleman you 
mentioned last night.” 

“ Ay ! ay ! ye understand now where the difficulty lies 
— language 9 he has w'ays o’ his ain wad banish a’ thae 
sort o’ worricows as far as the hindermost parts of Gid- 
eon, (meaning possibly Midian,) as Mr. Blattergowl says 
—only ane wadna be uncivil to ane’s forbear though he bo 
a ghaist — I am sure I will try that receipt of yours, broth- 
er, that ye showed me in a book, if ony body is to sleep 
in that room again, though, I think, in Christian charity 
ye should rather fit up the matted-room — it’s a wee damp 
and dark, to be sure, but then we hae sae seldom occa- 
sion for a spare bed.” 

“ No, no, sister ; dampness and darkness are worse 
than spectres — ours are spirits of light — and I would 
rather have you try the spell.” 


THE ANTiq,UARY* 


111 


** I will do that blithely, Monkbarns, an’ I had the in- 
gredients, as my cookery book ca’s them — There was 
vervain and dill — I mind that — Davie Dibble will ken 
about them, though, maybe, he’ll gie them Latin names 

— and peppercorn, we hae walth o’ tJiem, for” 

“ Hypericon, thou foolish woman !” thundered Old- 
buck ; d’ye suppose you’re making a haggis — or dc 
you think that a spirit, though he be formed of air, car 
be expelled by a receipt against wind 9 — This wise Grizel 
of mine, Mr. Lovel, recollects (with what accuracy you 
may judge) a charm which I once mentioned to her, and 
which, happening to hit her superstitious noddle, she re- 
members better than anything tending to a useful purpose 
I may chance to have said for this ten years — But many 

an old woman besides herself’ 

“ Auld woman ! Monkbarns,” said Miss Oldbuck, 
roused something above her usual submissive tone, “ ye 
really are less than civil to me.” 

“ Not less than just, Grizel ; however, I include in 
the same class many a sounding name, from JamblicJius 
down to Aubrey, who have wasted their time in devising 
imaginary remedies for non-existing diseases — But I hope, 
my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed — secured 
by the potency of Hypericon, 

With vervain and with dill, 

That hinder witches of their will, 


or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the 
invisible world, you will give another night to the terrors 
of the liaunted apartment, and another day to your faith- 
ful and feal friends.” 

“ I heartily wish I could, but” 

“ Nay, but me no huts — I have set my heart upon it.” 

I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but” 

“ Look ye there, now — but again ! — I hate hut ; 1 
know no form of expression in which he can appear, that 
is amiable, excepting as a butt of sack — but is to me a 
more detestable combination of letters than no itself. JVb 


112 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


is a surly, honest fellow, speaks his mind rough and round 
at once. But is a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, excep- 
tions sort of a conjunction, which comes to pull away the 
cup just when it is at your lips — 

it does a.lay 

The good precedent — fie upon but xjd ! 

But yet is as a jailor to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor " 

Well, then,” answered Lovel, whose motions vyere 
really undetermined at the moment, “ you shall not con- 
nect the recollection of my name with so churlish a par- 
ticle — I must soon think of leaving Fairport, 1 am afraid 
— and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take 
this opportunity of spending another day here.” 

‘‘ And you shall be rewarded, my boy — First you shall 
see John o’ the Girnell’s grave, and then we’ll walk gently 
along the sands, the state of the tide being first ascer- 
tained, (for we will have no more Peter Wilkins’ adven- 
tures, no more Glum and Gawrie work) as far as Knock- 
winnock Castle, and inquire after the old knight and my 
fair foe — which will but be barely civil, and then” 

“ I beg pardon, my dear sir ; but, perhaps, you had 
better adjourn your visit till to-morrow — I am a stranger, 
you know.” 

“ And.are, therefore, the more bound to show civility, I 
should suppose — But 1 beg your pardon for mentioning a 
word that perhaps belongs only to a collector of antiqui- 
ties — 1 am one of the old school. 

When courtiers gallop’d o’er four counties 
The ball’s fair partner to behold, 

And humbly hope she caught no cold.” 


“ Why, if — if — if you thought it would be expected 
— but I believe 1 had better stay.” 

“ Nay, nay, my good friend,! am not so old-fashioned 
as to press you to what is disagreeable, neither — it is suffi- 
cient that I see there is some remora^ some cause of delay, 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


112 


some mid impediment which I have no title to inquire into. 
Or you are still somewhat tired perhaps — I warrant I find 
means to entertain your intellects without fatiguing your 
limbs — I am no friend to violent exertion myself — a walk 
in the garden once a-day is exercise enough for any 
thinking being — none but a fool or a fox-hunter would 
require more. Well, what shall we set about “7 — my 
Essay on Castrametation — but I have that in petto for 
our afternoon cordial — or I will show you the controver- 
sy upon Ossian’s Poems between Mac-Cribb and me — I 
hold with the acute Orcadian — he with the defenders of 
the authenticity — The controversy began in smooth, oily, 
lady-like terms, but is now waxing more sour and eager 
as we get on —it already partakes somewhat of old Scali- 
ger’s style. — I fear the rogue will get some scent of that 
story of Ochiltree’s — but at worst, I have a hard repar- 
tee for him on the affair of the abstracted Antigonus — I 
will show you his last epistle, and the scroll of my answer 
— egad, it is a trimmer!” 

So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began 
rummaging among a quantity of miscellaneous papers, 
ancient and modern. But it was the misfortune of this 
learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned and 
unlearned, that he frequently experienced on such occa- 
sions, what Harlequin calls Vemharras des richesses — in 
other words, the abundance of his collection often pre- 
vented him from finding the article he sought for. “ Curse 
the papers I — I believe,” said Oldbuck, as he shuffled 
them to and fro, — ‘‘ I believe they make themselves wings 
like grasshoppers, and fly away bodily — but here, in the 
meanwhile, look at that little treasure.” So saying, he 
put into his hand a case made of oak, fenced at the corner 
with silver roses and studs — “ Pr’ythee, undo this button,’ 
said he, as he observed Lovel fumbling at the clasp ; — • 
he did so, the lid opened, and discovered a thin quarto 
curiously bound in black shagreen — “ There, Mr. Love. 
— there is the work I mentioned to you last night — the 
rare quarto of the Augsburg Confession, the foundation at 

VOL. I. 


114 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


once and the bulwark of the Reformation, drawn up by 
die learned and venerable Melancthon, defended by the 
FlecAor of Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood 
up for their faith even against the front of a powerful and 
victorious emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less veil 
erable and praiseworthy Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my hajipy 
progenitor, during- the yet more tyrannical attempts of 
Philip II. to suppress at once civil and religious liberty. 
Yes, sir — for printing this work, that eminent man was 
expelled from his ungrateful country, and driven to estab- 
lish his household gods even here at Monkbarns among 
the ruins of papal superstition and domination. Look 
upon his venerable effigies, Mr. Lovel, and respect the 
honourable occupation in which it presents him, as la- 
bouring personally at the press for the diffusion of Chris- 
tian and political knowledge — And see here his favourite 
motto, expressive of his independence and self-reliance 
which scorned to owe anything to patronage, that was not 
earned by desert — expressive also of that firmness oi 
mind and tenacity of purpose, recommended by Horace. 
He w'as, indeed, a man who would have stood firm, had 
his whole printing-house, presses, fonts, forms, great and 
small pica, been shivered to pieces around him — Read, I 
say, his motto; for each printer had his motto, or device, 
when that illustrious art was first practised. My ances 
tor’s was expressed as you see in the Teutonic phrase 
Kunst macht Gunst— that is, skill, or prudence, in 
availing ourselves of our natural talents and advantages, 
will compel favour and patronage, even where it is with- 
held from prejudice, or ignorance.” 

“ And that,” said Lovel, after a. moment’s thoughtful 
silence, “ that, then, is the meaning of these German 
words 9” 

“ Unquestionably — you perceive the appropriate appli- 
cation to a consciousness of inward worth,. and of emi- 
nence in an useful and honourable art. — Each printer in 
Jiose days, as I have already informed you, had his de- 
fice, his impresa, as I may call it, in the same manner as 
th3 doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt and 


THE ANTIQUE ARY. 


115 


nurnament. My ancestor boasted as much in his, as if 
he had displayed it over a conquered field of battle, though 
it betokened the diffusion of knowledge, not the effusion 
,of blood. And yet there is a family tradition which af- 
firms him to have chosen it from a more romantic circum- 
stance.” 

“ And what is that said to have been, my good sir ?” 
inquired his young friend. 

“ Why, it rather encroaches on my respected prede- 
cessor’s fame for prudence and wisdom — Sed semel in- 
sanivimus omnes — every body has played the fool in their 
turn — it is said, my ancestor, during his apprenticeshi}) 
with the descendant of old Fust, whom popular tradition 
hath sent to the devil, under the name of Faustus, was 
attracted by a paltry slip of womankind, — his master’s 
daughter, called Bertha — They broke rings, or went 
through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on such idle 
occasions as the plighting of a true-love troth, and Aldo- 
brand set out on his journey through Germany, as became 
an honest hand-werker ; for such was the custom of me- 
chanics at that time, to make a tour through the empire, 
and work at their trade for a time in each of the most 
eminent towns, before they finally settled themselves for 
life. It was a wise custom ; for, as such travellers were 
received like brethren in each town by those of their own 
handicraft, they were sure, in every case, to have the 
means either of gaining or communicating knowledge. 
When my ancestor returned to Nuremburg, he is said to 
have found his old master newly dead, and two or three 
gallant young suitors, some of them half-starved sprigs of 
nobility forsooth, in pursuit of the Yung-fraio Bertha, 
whose father was understood to have bequeathed her a 
dowry which might weigh against sixteen armorial quar- 
ters. But Bertha, not a bad sample of womankind, had 
made a vow she would only marry that man who could 
ivork her father’s press. The skill at that time was as rare 
as wonderful ; besides that the expedient rid her at once 
of most of her gentle suitors, who would have as soon 
wielded a conjuring wand as a composing-stick — some ol 


116 


THE ANTIQ,UAllY. 


the more ordinary typographers made the attempt ; but 
none were sufiiciently possessed of the mystery — But 1 
tire you.” 

“ By no means ; pray, proceed, Mr. Oldbuck ; I Jis 
ten with uncommon interest.” 

“ All ! it is all folly — however — Aldobrand arrived ir 
the ordinary dress, as we would say, of a journeyman 
printer — ^the same with which he had traversed Germany, 
and conversed with Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, and 
oilier learned men, who disdained not his knowledge, and 
the power he possessed of diffusing it, though hid under 
a garb so homely. But what appeared respectable in the 
eyes of wisdom, religion, learning, and philosophy, seem- 
ed mean, as might readily be supposed, and disgusting, in 
those of silly and affected womankind, and Bertha re- 
fused to acknowledge her former lover in the torn doub- 
let, skin cap, clouted shoes, and leathern apron of a trav- 
elling handicraftsman or mechanic. He claimed his priv- 
ilege, however, of being admitted to a trial ; and when the 
rest of the suitors had either declined the contest, or made 
such work as the devil could not read if his pardon de- 
pended on it, all eyes were bent on the stranger. Aldo- 
brand stepped gracefully forward, arranged the types 
without omission of a single letter, hyphen, or comma, 
imposed them without deranging a single space, and pulled 
off the first proof as clear and free from errors as if it 
had been a triple revise ! All applauded the worthy suc- 
cessor of the immortal Faustus — the blushing maiden 
acknowledged her error in trusting to the eye more than 
tliL intellect, and the elected bridegroom thenceforward 
chose for his impress or device the appropriate words, 

‘ Skill wins favour ,"^ — But what is the matter with you 
—•you are in a browm study 9 — Come, I told you this was 
but trumpery conversation for thinking people — and now 
t have my hand on the Ossianic controversy.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Lovel ; “ I am going to 
appear very silly and changeable in your eyes, IMr. Old- 
buck, but you seemed to think Sir Arthur might in civil- 
ity expect a call from me 


THE ANTI(tUARY< 


117 


‘‘ Psha, psha, I can make your apolc^y ; and if you 
must leave us so soon as you say, what signifies how you 
stand in his honour’s good graces 7 — And I warn you, 
that tlie Essay on Castrametation is something prolix, 
and will occupy the time we can spare after dinner, so 
you may lose the Ossianic controversy if we do not ded- 
icate this morning to it — we will go out to my ever-green 
bower, my sacred holly-tree yonder, and have it fronde 
super viridi. 


* Sing hey-ho ! hey*ho ! for the green holly, 

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.' 

J3ut, egad,” continued the old gentleman, ‘‘ when I look 
closer at you, I begin to think you may be of a different 
opinion. Amen, with all my heart — 1 quarrel with no 
man’s hobby, if he does not run it a tilt against mme, and 
if he does — let him beware his eyes — What say you 9 — 
in the language of the world and worldlings base, if 
you can condescend to so mean a sphere, shall we stay 
or go 9” 

“ In the language of selfishness then, which is of course 
the language of the world — let us go by all means. 

‘‘ Amen, amen, quo’ the Earl Marshal,” answ’ered Old- 
buck, as he exchanged his slippers for a pair of stout 
walking shoes, with cutikins, as he called them, of black 
cloth. He only interrupted the walk by a slight deviation 
to the tomb of John o’ the Girnell, remembered as the 
last bailiff of the abbey who had resided at Monkbarns. 
Beneath an old oak-tree upon a hillock, sloping pleasantly 
to the south, and catching a distant view of the sea ovei 
two or three rich iriclosures, and the Mussel-crag, lay a 
moss-grown stone, and in memory of the departed worthy 
it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr. Oldbuck affirmed 
(though many doubted) the defaced characters could bt 
distinctly traced to the following effect : — 

Heir lyeth John o’ yc Girnell, 

Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kiraell. 

In hys tyme ilk wyfe’s hennis clokit, 


118 


THE A]SrTIQ,TJAllT. 


Ilka gild mannis lierlh wi' bairnis was stokit, 

He deled a boll o’ hear in firioUis lyve. 

Four for ya halie kirke and ane for pure mennis wyvis. 


You see how modest the author of this sepulchral 
commendation was — he tells us, that honest John could 
make five firlots, or quarters, as you would say, out of the 
boll, instead of four, — that he gave the fifth to the wives 
of the parish, and accounted for the other four to the 
abbot and chapter, — that in his time the wives’ hens al- 
ways laid eggs, and devil thank them, if they got one- 
fifth of the abbey rents ; and that honest men’s hearths 

were never unblessed with offspring, an addition to 

the miracle, which they, as well as 1 , must have consider- 
ed as perfectly unaccountable. But come on — leave we 
Jock o’ the Girnell, and let us jog on to the yellow rands, 
where the sea, like a repulsed enemy, is now retreating 
from the ground on which he gave us battle last night.” ' 

Thus saying, he led the way to the sands. Upon the 
links or downs close to them, were seen four or five huts 
inhabited by fishers, whose boats, drawn high upon the 
beach, lent the odoriferous vapours of pitch melting under 
aborning sun, to contend. with those of the offals of fish 
and other nuisances usually collected round Scottish cot- 
tages. Undisturbed by these complicated steams of abo- 
mination, a middle-aged woman, with a face which had 
defied a thousand storms, sat mending a net at the door 
of one of the cottages. A handkerchief close bound 
about her head, and a coat, which had formerly been that 
of a man, gave her a masculine air, which was increased 
by her strength, uncommon stature, and harsh voice. 

“ What are ye for the day, your honour 9” she said, oi 
rather screamed, to Oldbuck, “ caller haddocks and whit- 
ings — a bannock-fluke and a cock-padle.” 

“ How much for the bannock-fluke and cock-padle V 
demanded the Antiquary. 

“ Four white shillings and saxpence,” answered the 
N^aiad. 


THE ANTKtUAEY* 


119 


“ Four devils and six of their imps!” retorted the An- 
tiquary ; “ Do ye think I am mad, Maggie 9” 

“ And div ye think,” rejoined the virago, setting her 
arms a-kimbo, “ tliat my man and my sons are to gae 
to the sea in weatlier like yestreen and the day — sic a sea 

as it’s yet outby and get naething for their fisli, and be 

misca’d into the bargain, Monkbarns 9 It’s no fish ye’re 
buying — it’s men’s lives.” 

“ Well, Maggie, I’ll bid you fair — I’ll bid you a shilling 
for the fluke and the cock-padle, or sixpence separately — 
and if all your fish are as well paid, I think your man, as 
you call him, and your sons, will make a good voyage.” 

“ Deil gin their boat, were knockit against the Bell- 
Rock rather ! it wad be better, and the bonnier voyage o’ 
the twa. A shilling for thae twa bonny fish I Odd, that’s 
ane indeed !” 

“ Well, well, you old beldam, carry your fish up to 
^lonkbarns, and see what my sister will give you for 
them.” 

“ Na, na, Monkbarns, deil a fit — I’ll rather deal wi’ 
yoursell ; for, though you’re near eneugh, yet Miss Grizel 
has an unco close grip — I’ll gie ye them (in a softened 
tone) for three-and-saxpence.” 

“ Eighteen-pence, or nothing I” 

“ Eighteen-pence ! ! !” (in a loud tone of astonishment, 
which declined into a sort of rueful whine, when the 
dealer turned as if to walk away) — “ Ye’ll no be for the 
fish then 9” — (then louder, as she saw him moving off) 
— “ I’ll gie them — and — and — and a half-a-dozen o’ par- 
tans to make the sauce, for three shillings and a dram.” 

“ Half-a-crown then, Maggie, and a dram.” 

“ Aweel, your honour maun hae’t your ain gate, nae 
doubt ; but a dram’s worth siller now — the distilleries is 
no working.” 

“ And I hope they’ll never work again in my time,” 
said Oldbuck. 

“ Ay, ay— -it’s easy for your honour, and the like o’ you 
gentle-folks, to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, and fire 
and fending, and meat and claith, and sit dry and caimy 


120 


THE ANTIQ,TTAIIT. 


by the fire-side — But an’ ye wanted file, and meat, and 
dry claise, and were deeing o’ cauld, and had a sair heart, 
whilk is warst ava’, wi’ just tippence in your pouch, wad- 
na ye be glad to buy a dram wi’t, to be eilding and claise, 
and a supper and heart’s ease into the bargain, till the 
morn’s morning 

“ It’s even too true an apology, Maggie. Is your 
goodman off to sea this morning, after his exertions last 
night 9” 

‘‘ In troth is he, Monkbarns ; he was awa this morning 
by four o’clock, when the sea was working like barm wi’ 
yestreen’s wind, and our bit coble dancing in’t like a cork.” 

“ Well, he’s an industrious fellow. Carry the fish up to 
Monkbarns.” 

“ That I will — or I’ll send little Jenny, she’ll rin faster ; 
but I’ll ca’ on Miss Grizy for the dram my sell, and say ye 
sent me.” 

A nondescript animal, which might have passed for a 
mermaid, as it was paddling in a pool among the rocks, 
was summoned ashore by the shrill screams of its dam ; 
and having been made decent, as her mother called it, 
which was performed by adding a short red cloak to a 
petticoat, which was at first her sole covering, and which 
reached scantly below' her knee, the child was dismissed 
with the fish in a basket, and a request on the part of 
Monkbarns, that they might be prepared for dinner. “ It 
would have been long,” said Oldbuck with much self- 
complacency, “ ere my womankind could have made such 
a reasonable bargain with that old skin-flint, though they 
sometimes wrangle with her for an hour together under 
my study window, like three sea-gulls screaming and sput- 
tering in a gale of wind. But, come, wend we on oni 
W'ay to Knockwinnock ” 


THE ANTiq,UARX. 


121 


CHAPTER XII. 


Beggar ?— ihe only freeman of your commonwealth ; 
Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, 

Obey no governor, use no religion 

But what they draw from their own ancient custom. 

Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. 

Brome. 


With our readers’ permission, we will outstep the slow, 
though sturdy pace of the Antiquary, whose halts, as he 
turned round to his companion at every moment to point 
out something remarkable in the landscape, or to enforce 
some favourite topic more emphatically than the exercise 
of walking permitted, delayed their progress considera- 
bly. 

Notwithstanding the fatigues and dangers of the pre- 
ceding evening. Miss Wardour was able to rise at her 
usual hour, and to apply herself to her usual occupations, 
after she had first satisfied her anxiety concerning her 
father’s state of health. Sir Arthur was no farther indis- 
posed than by the effects of great agitation and unusual 
fatigue,^ but these were sufficient to induce him to keep 
his bedchamber. 

To look back on the events of the preceding day, was, 
to Isabella, a very unpleasing retrospect. She owed her 
life, and that of her father, to the very person by whom, 
of all others, she wished least to be obliged, because she 
could hardly even express common gratitude towards him 
without encouraging hopes which might be injurious to 
them both. “ Why should it be my fate to receive such 
benefits, and conferred at so much personal risk, from one 
whose romantic passion I have so unceasingly laboured 
to discourage 9 Why should chance have given him this 
advantage over me 9 and why, oh why, should a half 

VOL. I 


122 


THE ANTIQ.UAKY. 


subdued feeling in my own bosom, in spite of my sober 
reason, almost rejoice that he has attained it !” 

While Miss Wardour thus taxed herself with wayward 
caprice, she beheld advancing down the avenue, not her 
younger and more dreaded preserver, but the old beggar, 
who had made such a capital figure in the melo-drama ol 
the preceding evening. 

She rang the bell for her maid-servant. “ Bring the 
old man up stairs.” 

The servant returned in a minute or two — “ He will 
come up at no rate, madam — he says his clouted shoes 
never were on a carpet in his life, and that, please God, 
they never shall. — Must I take him into the servants’ 
hall V’ 

“ No ; stay, I want to speak with him — Where is he 
for she had lost ‘sight of him as he approached the house. 

“ Sitting in the sun on the stone-bench in the court, be- 
side the window of the flagged parlour.” 

“ Bid him stay there — I’ll come down to the parlour 
and speak with him at the window.” 

She came down accordingly, and found the mendicant 
half-seated, half-reclining, upon the bench beside the win- 
dow. Edie Ochiltree, old man and beggar as he was, 
had apparently some internal consciousness of the favour- 
able impressions connected with his tall form, command* 
ing features and long white beard and hair. It used to 
be remarked of him that he was seldom seen but in a 
posture which showed these personal attributes to advan- 
tage. Al present, as he lay half-reclined, wdlh his wrink- 
led yet ruddy cheek, and keen grey eye, turned up to- 
wards the sky, his staff and bag laid beside him, end a cast 
of homely wisdom and sarcastic irony in the expression 
of his coLinlenance, wdiile he gazed for a moment around 
the court-yard, and then resumed his foimer look upw^ard, 
he might have been taken by an artist as the model of 
an old philosopher of the Cynic school, musing upon the 
frivolity of mortal pursuits, and the precarious tenure of 
human possessions, and looking up to the source from 
which aught permanently good can alone be derived 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


123 


The young lady, as she presented her tall and c.egant 
figure at the open window, but divided froiu the court-yard 
by a grating, with which, according to the fashion of an- 
cient times, the lower windows of the castle were secured, 
gave an interest of a different kind, and might be supposed, 
by a romantic imagination, an imprisoned damsel com- 
municating a tale of her durance to a palmer, in order 
that he might call upon the gallantry of every knight whom 
he should meet in his wanderings, to rescue her from 
her oppressive thraldom. 

After Miss Wardour had offered, in the terms she 
thought would be most acceptable, those thanks which the 
beggar declined, as far beyond his merit, she began to 
express herself in a manner which she supposed would 
speak more feelingly to his apprehension. “ She did not 
know,” she said, “ what her father intended particularly 
to do for their preserver, but certainly it would be some- 
thing that would make him easy for life ; if he chose to 
reside at the castle, she would give orders” 

The old man smiled, and shook his head. “ I wad be 
baith a grievance and a disgrace to your fine servants, my 
leddy, and I have never been a disgrace to ony body yet 
that 1 ken of.” 

‘‘ Sir Arthur would give strict orders” 

Ye’re very kind — 1 doubtna, I doubtna ; but there 
are some things a master can command, and some he 
canna — I dare say he wad gar them keep hands aff me 
— (and troth, 1 think they wad hardly venture on that 
ony gate) — and he wad gar them gie me my soup parritch 
and bit meat — But trow ye that Sir Arthur’s command 
could forbid the gibe o’ the tongue or the blink o’ the ee, 
or gar them gie me my food wi’ the look o’ kindness that 
gars it digest sae weel, or that he could make them for 
bear a’ the slights and taunts that hurt ane’s spirit mail 
nor downright misca’ing 7 — Besides, I am the idlest auld 
2 arle that ever lived ; I downa be bound down to hours 
o’ eating and sleeping ; and, to speak the honest truth, 1 
wad be a very bad example in ony weel-regulated faindy.” 


124 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


“ Well then, Edie, what do you think of a neat cottage 
and a garden, and a daily dole, and notlnpg to do but ta 
dig a little in your garden \vhen you pleased yourself V' 

“ And how often wad that be, trow ye, my leddy 
maybe no ance atween Candlemas and Yule — and if a 
thing were done to my hand, as if I were Sir Arthur him- 
sell, I could never bide the staying still in ae place, and 
just seeing the same joists and couples aboon my head 
night after night. — And then I have a queer humour o’ my 
ain, that sets a strolling beggar weel eneugh, whase word 
naebody minds — but ye ken Sir Arthur has odd sort o’ 
ways — and I wad be jesting or scorning at them — and 
ve ^vad be angry, and then I wad be just fit to hang my- 
sell.” 

“ O, you are a licensed man,’ said Isabella ; we 
shall give you all reasonable scope : So you had better be 
ruled, and remember your age.” 

But 1 am no that sair failed yet,” replied the mendi- 
cant. “ Odd, ance 1 gat a wee soupled yestreen, I was as 
yauld as an eel. — And then what wad a’ the country about 
do for want o’ auld Edie Ochiltree, that brings news and 
country cracks frae ae farm-steading to anither, and gin- 
gerbread to the lasses, and helps the lads to mend their fid- 
dles, and the gude wives to clout their pans, and plaits rush- 
swords and grenadier caps for the weans, and busks the 
laird’s flees, and has skill o’ cow-ills and horse-ills, and kens 
mair auld sangs and tales than a’ the barony besides, and 
gars ilka body laugh wherever he comes — troth, my leddy, 
I canna lay down my vocation ; it would be a public loss.” 

Well, Edie, if your idea of your importance is so 
strong as not to be shaken by the prospect of independ- 
ence” — 

“ Na, na. Miss — it’s because I am mair independent 
as I am,” answered the old man ; “ I beg na mair at ony 
single house than a meal o’ meat, or maybe but a mouth- 
fou o’t — if it’s refused at ae place, I get it at anither — sae 
I canna be said to depend on ony body in particular, but 
just on the country at large.*’ 


THE ANTKitrARTf. 


125 


“ Well, then, only promise me tliat you will let me 
know should you ever wish to settle as you tirn old, and 
more incapable of making your usual rounds ; and, in 
the meantime take this.” 

“ Na, na, my leddy ; I downa take muckle siller at 
anes, it’s against our rule — and — tliough it’s maybe no 
civil to be repeating the like o’ that — they say that siller’s 
like to be scarce wi’ Sir Arthur himsell, and that he’s run 
himsell out o’ thought wi’ his houkings and minings for 
lead and copper yonder.” 

Isabella had some anxious anticipations to the same 
effect, but was shocked to hear that her father’s embar- 
rassments were such public talk ; as if scandal ever failed 
to stoop upon so acceptable a quarry as the failings of the 
good man, the decline of the powerful, or the decay ol 
the prosperous. — Miss Wardour sighed deeply — “ Well, 
Edie, we have enough to pay our debts, let folks say what 
they will, and requiting you is one of the foremost — let 
me press this sum upon you.” 

“ That I might be robbed and murdered some night 
between town and town 9 or, what’s as bad, that I might 
live in constant apprehension o’t ? — I am no — (lowering 
his voice to a whisper,. and looking keenly around him) — 
I am no that clean unprovided for neither ; and though 
I should die at the back of a dyke, they’ll find as muckle 
quilted in this auld blue gown as will bury me like a 
Christian and gie the lads and lasses a blithe lykewake 
too ; sae there’s the Gaberlunzie’s burial provided for, and 
I need nae mair. — Were the like o’ me ever to change a 
note, wha the deil d’ye think wad be sic fules as to gie 
me charity after that — it wad flee through the country 
like wild-fire, that auld Edie suld hae done siccan a like 
thing, and then, I’se warrant, I might grane my heart out 
or ony body wad gie me either a bane or a bodle.” 

“ Is there nothing then that I can do for you T’ 

“ Oil ay — I’ll aye come for my awmous as usual, — and 
whiles I wad be fain o’ a pickle sneeshin, and ye maun 
speak to the constable and ground-officer just to owerlook 
VOL. 1. 


26 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


me, and aaybe ye^ll gie a gude word for me to Sandie 
Wethersi\nei5, the miller, that he may chain up his muckk 
dog — I wadna hae him to hurt the puir beast, for it jusl 
does its office in barking at a Gaberlunzie like me. — And 
there’s ae thing maybe mair, but ye’ll think it’s very 
bauld o’ the like o’ me to speak o’t.” 

‘‘ What is it, Edie 9 — if it respects you, it shall be 
done if it is in my power.” 

“ It respects yoursell, and it is in your power, and 1 
maun come out wi’t. — Ye are a bonny young leddy, and 
a gude ane, and maybe a weektochered ane — but dinna 
ye sneer awa the lad Lovel, as ye did awhile sinsyne 
on the walk beneath the Brierybank, when I saw ye 
baith, and heard ye too, though ye saw na me. Be canny 
wi’ the lad, for he loes ye weel, and it’s to him, and no 
to onything I could have done for you, that Sir Arthur 
and you wan ower yestreen.” 

He uttered these words in a low but distinct tone ot 
voice ; and, without waiting for an answer, walked to- 
wards a low door which led to the apartments of the ser- 
vants, and so entered the house. 

Miss Wardour remained for a moment or two in the 
situation in which she had heard the old man’s last extra- 
ordinary speech, leaning, namely, against the bars of the 
window, nor could she determine upon saying even a sin- 
gle word relative to a subject so delicate, until the beggar 
was out of sight. It was, indeed, difficult to determine 
what to do. That her having had an interview and 
private conversation with this young and unknown stran- 
ger, should be a secret possessed by a person of the last 
class in which a young lady would seek a confidant, and 
at the mercy of one who was by profession gossip-general 
to the whole neighbourhood, gave her acute agony. She 
had no reason, indeed, to suppose that the old man would 
wilfully do anything to hurt her feelings, much less to in- 
jure her ; but the mere freedom of speaking to her upon 
such a subject, showed, as might have been expected, a 
lotal absence of delicacy ; and what he might take it into 
his nead to do or say next, that she was pretty sure so 


THE ANTIC^UART. 


127 


professed an admirer of liberty would not hesitate to do or 
say without scruple. This idea so much hurt and vexed 
her, that she halt-wished the officious assistance of Lovel 
and Ochiltree had been absent upon the preceding even- 
ing. 

While she was in this agitation of spirits, she suddenly 
observed Oldbuck and Lovel entering the court. She 
drew instantly so far back from the window, that she 
could, without being seen, observe how the Antiquary 
paused in front of the building, and, pointing to the vari- 
ous scutcheons of its former owners, seemed in the act of 
bestowing upon Lovel much curious and erudite informa- 
tion, which, from the absent look of his auditor, Isabella 
might shrewdly guess was entirely thrown away. The 
necessity that she should take some resolution became 
instant and pressing — she rang, therefore, for a servant, 
and ordered him to show the visiters to the drawing-room, 
while she, by another staircase, gained her own apart- 
ment, to consider, ere she made her appearance, what 
line of conduct were fittest for her to pursue. The 
guests, agreeably to her instructions, were introduced into 
the room where company was usually received. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The time was that I hated thee, 

And yet it is not tliat I bear thee love. 

Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 

I will endure 

But do not look for further recompense. 

.(Is rjou like it. 


Miss Isabella Wardour’s complexion was considerably 
heightened, when, after the delay necessary to arrange hef 
deas, she presented herself in the drawing-room. 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


128 


‘‘ I am glad you are come my fair foe,” said the An 
ticjuary, greeting her with much kindness, ‘‘ fcr I have 
had a most refractory, or at least negligent, auditor, in my 
young friend here, wdiile 1 endeavoured to make him ac- 
quainted with the history of Knockwinnock castle. I 
think the danger of last night has mazed the poor lad. 
But you, Miss Isabel, why, you look as if flying through the 
night air had been your natural and most congenial oc- 
cupation. Your colour is even better than when you 
honoured my hospitium yesterday — And Sir Arthur — 
how fares my good old friend 

“ Indifferently well, Mr. Oldbuck ; but, I am afraid, 
not quite able to receive your congratulations, or to pay 
— to pay — Mr. Lovel his thanks for his unparalleled ex- 
ertions.” 

“ I dare say not — A good down pillow for his good 
white head were more meet than a couch so churlish as 
Bessie’s Apron, plague on her !” 

“ I had no thought of intruding,” said Lovel, looking 
upon the ground, and speaking with hesitation and sup- 
pressed emotion ; “ I did not — did not mean to intrude 
upon Sir Arthur or Miss Wardour the presence of one 
wlio — who must necessarily be unwelcome — as associat- 
ed, I mean, with painful reflections.” 

“ Do not think my father so unjust and ungrateful,” 
said Miss Wardour. ‘‘ I dare say,” she continued, par- 
ticipating in Level’s embarrassment — I dare say — I am 
certain — that my father would be happy to show his grat- 
itude — in any way — that is, which Mr. Lovel could con- 
sider it as proper to point out.” 

“ Why, the deuce,” interrupted Oldbuck, “ what sort 
of a qualification is that “7 — On my word, it reminds me 
of our minister, who, choosing, like a formal old fop as he 
is, to drink to my sister’s inclinations, thought it necessary 
to add the saving clause. Provided, madam, they be virtu- 
ous. Come, let us have no more of this nonsense — I dare 
say Sir Arthur will bid us welcome on some future day. 
And what news from the kingdom of subterranean dark- 
ness and airy hope 9 — what says ih*^ swart spirit of the 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


129 


mine 9 — has Sir Arthur had any good intelligence of his 
adventure lately in Gien-Withershins 9” 

Miss Wardour shook her head — “ But indifferent, 1 
fear, Mr. Oldbuck ; but there lie some specimens which 
have lately been sent down.” 

‘‘ Ah ! my poor dear hundred pounds, which Sir Ar- 
thur persuaded me to give for a share ‘ in that hopeful 
scheme, would have bought a porter’s load of mineralogy 
—but let me see them.” 

And so saying, he sat down at the table in the recess, 
on which the mineral productions were lying, and pro- 
ceeded to examine them, grumbling and pshawing at each, 
which he took up and laid aside. 

In the mean time, Level, forced as it were by this se- 
cession of Oldbuck, into a sort of tete-a-tete with Miss 
Wardour, took an opportunity of addressing her in a low 
and interrupted tone of voice. “ 1 trust Miss Wardour 
will impute, to circumstances almost irresistible, this intru- 
sion of a person who has reason to think himself — so un- 
acceptable a visiter.” 

“ Mr. Lovel,” answered Miss Wardour, observing 
the same tone of caution, “ I trust you will not — 1 am 
sure you are incapable of abusing the advantages given 
to you by the services you have rendered us, which, as 
they affect my father, can never be sufficiently acknow- 
ledged or repaid. — Could Mr. Lovel see me without his 
own peace being affected — could he see me as a friend 
— as a sister — no man will be — and, from all I have 
ever heard of Mr. Lovel, ought to be, more welcome ; 
but” 

Oldbuck’s anathema against the conjunction hut was in- 
ternally echoed by Lovel — “ Forgive me, if I interrupt 
you. Miss Wardour — you need not fear my intruding upon 
a subject where I have been already severely repressed 
i — but do not add to the severity of repelling my senti 
ments the rigour of obliging me to disavow them.” 

“ I am much embarrassed, Mr. Lovel,” replied the 
young lady, “ by your — I would not willingly use a strong 
^yord — your romantic and hopeless pertinacity — it is for 
yourself I plead, that you would consider the calls which 


130 


THE ANTIQ,IJARY. 


your country has upon your talents, that you will not waste*, 
in an idle and fanciful indulgence of an ill-placed predi 
lection, time, which, well redeemed by active exertion, 
should lay the foundation of future distinction — let me 

entreat that you would form a manly resolution” 

“ It is enough. Miss Wardour ; “ I see plainly that” — 
‘‘ Mr. Lovel, you are hurt — and, believe me, I sympa- 
thize in the pain which I inflict — but can I, in justice to 
myself, in fairness to you, do otherwise ? — Without my 
father’s consent, I never will entertain the addresses of any 
one, and how totally impossible it is that he should coun- 
tenance the partiality with which you honour me, you are 

yourself fully aware — and, indeed” 

‘‘ No, Miss Wardour,” answered Lovel, in a tone of 
passionate entreaty ; “ do not go farther — is it not enough 
to crush every hope in our present relative situation ? — do 
not carry your resolutions farther — why urge what would 
be your conduct if Sir Arthur’s objections could be re- 
moved ?” 

It is indeed vain, Mr. Lovel,” said Miss Wardour, 
“ because their removal is impossible ; and I only wish, as 
your friend, and as one who is obliged to you for her own 
and her father’s life, to entreat you to suppress this unfor- 
tunate attachment — to leave a country which affords no 
scope for your talents, and to resume the honourable line 
of the profession which you seem to have abandoned.” 

“ Well, Miss Wardour, your wishes shall be obeyed — ■ 
have patience with me one little paonth, and if, in the 
course of that space, I cannot show you such reasons for 
continuing my residence at Fairport, as even you shall 
approve of, 1 will bid adieu to its vicinity, and, with the 
same breath, to all my hopes of happjness.” 

“ Not so, Mr. Lovel ; many years of deserved happi- 
ness, founded on a more rational basis than your present 
wishes, are, I trust, before you — but it is full time to fin- 
ish this conversation. I cannot force you to adopt my 
advice — 1 cannot shut the door of my father’s house 
against the preserver of his life and mine — but the sooner 
Mr. Lovel can teach his mind to submit to the inevitable 


THE ANTIQUE ART. 


m 

disappointment of wishes which have been so rashly 
formed, the mere highly he will rise in my esteem — and, 
in the meanwhile, for his sake as well as mine, he must 
excuse my putting an interdict upon conversation on a 
subject so painful.” 

A servant at this moment announced, that Sir Arthur 
desired to speak with Mr. Oldbuck in his dressing-room. 

“ Let me show you the way,” said Miss Wardour, who 
apparently dreaded a continuation of her tete-a-tete with 
Lovel, and she conducted the Antiquary accordingly t() 
her father’s apartment. 

Sir Arthur, his legs swathed in flannel, was stretched 
on the couch. “ Welcome, Mr. Oldbuck,” he said ; 
“ I trust you have come better off than 1 have done from 
the inclemency of yesterday evening 9” 

“ Truly, Sir Arthur, I was not so much exposed to it 
— I kept terra jirnM — you fairly committed yourself to 
the cold night-air in the most literal of all senses. But 
such adventures become a gallant knight better than a 
humble esquire — To rise on the wings of the night-wind 
— to dive into the bowels of the earth. — What news from 
our subterranean Good Hope 9 the terra incognita of 
Glen-Withershins 9” 

“ Nothing good as yet,” said the baronet, turning him- 
self hastily, as if stung by a pang of the gout ; “ but 
Dousterswivel does not despair.” 

“ Does he not V'* quoth Oldbuck ; “ I do though, un- 
der his favour — Why, old Dr. H n^ told me, when 1 

was in Edinburgh, -that we w^ould never find copper 
enough, judging from the specimens I showed him, to 
make a pair of sixpenny knee-buckles — and I cannot see 
that those^ samples on the table below differ much in 
quality.” 

“ The learned doctor is not infallible, I presume 9” 

‘‘ No ; but he is one of our first chemists ; and this 
tramping philosopher of yours — this Dousterswivel, is, I 
have a notion, one ol those learned adventurers described 
by Kircher, Artem hahent sine arte, partem sine parte, 
quorum medium est mentiri, vita eorum mendicatum ire ; 
that is to say, Miss Wardour”- - 


132 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ It is unnecessary to translate,” said Miss Wardoiir , 

I comprehend your general meaning — but 1 hope Mr. 
Dousterswivel will turn out a more trust-worthy charac- 
ter.” 

“ I doubt it not a little,” said the Antiquary, “ and 
w^e are a foul way out if we cannot discover this infernai 
v^ein that he has prophesied about these two years.” 

‘‘ You have no great interest in the matter, Mr. Old- 
buck,” said the baronet. 

Too much, too much, Sir Arthur — and yet, for the 
sake of my fair foe here, I would consent to lose it all, 
so you had no more on the venture.” 

There was a painful silence of a few moments, for Sir 
Arthur was too proud to acknowledge the downfall of hii 
golden dreams, though he could no longer disguise to him- 
self that such was likely to be the termination of the ad- 
venture. “ 1 understand,” he at length said, “ that the 
young gentleman, to whose gallantry and presence of mind 
we were so much indebted last night, has favoured me 
with a visit — 1 am distressed that I am unable to see him, 
or indeed any one, but an old friend like you, Mr. Old- 
buck.” 

A declination of the Antiquary’s stiff back-bone ac- 
knowdedged the preference. 

“ You made acquaintance with this young gentleman 
in Edinburgh, I suppose *?” 

Oldbuck told the circumstances of their becoming 
knowm to each other. 

“ Why, then, my daughter is an older acquaintance 
of Mr Lovel than you are,” said the Baronet. 

“ Indeed ! I was not aware of that,” answered Old- 
buck, somewhat surprised. 

“ I met Mr. Lovel,” said Isabella, slightly colouring, 
“ when I resided ihislast spring with my aunt, Mrs. Wilmot.” 

“ In Yorkhsire ? — and what character did he bear then, 
or how was be engaged ?” said Oldbuck. — ‘ and why 
did not you recogtiize him when I introduced you ?” 

Isabe :1a answered the least difficult question, and pass- 
ed over the other. “ He had a commission in the army, 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


133 


and had, I believe, served with reputation ; he was much 
respected, as an amiable and promising young man.” 

“ And pray, such being the case,” replied the Anti- 
quary, not disposed to take one reply in answer to two 
distinct questions, “ why did you not speak to the lad at 
once when you met him at my house ? — I thought you 
had less of the paltry pride of womankind about you, 
JMiss Wardour.” 

“ There -tvas a reason for it,” said Sir Arthur, with 
dignity ; “you know the opinions — prejudices, perhaps, 
you will call them — of oiir house concerning purity oi 
birth ; this young gentleman is, it seems, the illegitimate 
son of a man of fortune ; my daughter did not choose to 
renew their acquaintance till she should know whether 1 
approved of her holding any intercourse with him.” 

“ If it had been with his mother instead of himself,” an- 
swered Oldbuck, with his usual dry causticity of humour, 
“ J could see an excellent reason for it. Ah, poor lad ' that 
was the cause then that he seemed so absent and confused 
while I explained to him the reason of the bend of bas- 
tardy upon the shield yonder under the corner turret !” 

“ True,” said the baronet, with complacency, “ it is the 
shield of Malcolm the Usurper, as he is called. The 
tower which he built is termed, after him, Malcolm’s 
Tower, but more frequently Misticot’s Tower, which I 
conceive to be a corruption {ov Misbegot, He is denom- 
inated, in the Latin pedigree of our family, Milcoluinhus 
JVothus ; and his temporary seizure of our property, and 
most unjust attempt to establish his own illegitimate line 
in the estate of Knockwinnock, gave rise to such family 
feuds and misfortunes, as strongly to found us in that hor- 
ror and antipathy to defiled blood and illegitimacy, which 
has been handed down to me from my respected ances- 
try.” 

“ I know the story,” said Oldbuck, “ and I was tell- 
ing it to Lovel this moment, with some of the wise max- 
ims and consequences which it has engrafted on your 
family politics. Poor fellow ! he must have been much 
nurt ; I took the wavering of his attention for negligence, 
7 VOL. T. 


134 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


and was something piqued at it, and it proves to be onl^ 
an excess of feeling. I hope, Sir Arthur, you will not 
think the less ofyour life, because it has been preserved by 
such assistance 

“ Nor the less of my assistant either,” said the baronet ; 
“ my doors and table shall be equally open to him as if he 
had descended of the most unblemished lineage.” 

Come, I am glad of that — he’ll know where he can 
get a dinner then if he wants one. But what views can 
he have in this neighbourhood 9 — I must'catechise him ; 
and if I find he wants it — or, indeed, whether he does or 
lot — he shall have my best advice.” As the Antiquary 
made this liberal promise, he took his leave of JVJiss 
Wardour and her father, eager to commence operations 
upon Mr. Lovel. He informed him abruptly that Miss 
Wardour sent her compliments, and remained in atten- 
dance on her father, and then taking him by the arm, he 
led him out of the castle. 

Knockwinnock still preserved much of the external 
attributes of a baronial castle. It had its draw-bridge, 
though now never drawn up, and its dry moat, the sides 
of which had been planted with shrubs,, chiefly of the 
evergreen tribes. Above these rose the old building, 
partly from a foundation of red rock scarped down to 
the sea-beach, and partly from the steep green verge of 
the moat. The trees of the avenue have been already 
mentioned, and many others rose around of large size, 
as if to confute the prejudice that timber cannot be raised 
near to the ocean. Our walkers paused, and looked 
back upon the castle, as they attained the height of a 
small knoll, over which lay their homeward road, for it is 
to be supposed they did not tempt the risk of the tide by 
returning along the sands. The building flung its broad 
shadow upon the tufted foliage of the shrubs beneath it, 
while the front windows sparkled in the sun. They were 
riewed by the gazers with very different feelings. Lov- 
el, with the fond eagerness of that passion which derives 
its food and nourishment from trifles, as the cameleon is 
said to live' on the air, or upon the invisible insects 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


135 


which it contains, endeavoured to conjecture which of the 
numerous windows belonged to the apartment now graced 
by Miss Wardour’s presence. The speculations of the 
Antiquary were of a more melancholy cast, and were 
partly indicated by the ejaculation of cito peritura ! as 
he turned away from the prospect. Lovel, roused from 
his reverie, looked at him as if to inquire the meaning 
of an exclamation so ominous. The old man shook his 
head. “ Yes, my young friend,” said he, “ I doubt 
greatly — and it wrings my heart to say it — this ancient 
family is going fast to the ground !” 

“ Indeed !” answered Lovel — “ You surprise me 
greatly !” 

“We harden ourselves in vain,” continued the Anti- 
quary, pursuing his own train of thought and feeling — 
“ We harden ourselves in vain to treat with the indiffer- 
ence they deserve the changes of this trumpery whirligig 
world — We strive ineffectually to be the self-sufficing in- 
v'ulnerable being, the teres atque rotundus of the poet — 
the stoical exemption which philosophy affects to give us 
over the pains and vexations of human life, is as imag- 
inary as the state of mystical quietism and perfection 
aimed at by some crazy enthusiasts.” 

“ And Heaven forbid that it should be otherwise !” said 
Ijovel warmly — “ Heaven forbid that any process of phi- 
losophy were capable so to sear and indurate our feelings, 
that nothing should agitate them but what arose instantly 
and immediately out of our own selfish interests ! 1 

would as soon wish my hand to be as callous as horn, 
that it might escape an occasional cut or scratch, as ] 
would be ambitious of the stoicism which should render 
my heart like a piece of the nether mill-stone.” 

The Antiquary regarded his youthful companion with 
a look half of pity, half of sympathy, and shrugged lip 
his shoulders as he replied, “ Wait, young man, — wail 
till your bark has been battered by the storm of sixty 
vears of mortal vicissitude — you will learn by that time 
10 reef your sails, that she may obey the helm — or, in the 
language of tiiis world, you will find distresses enough, 


136 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


endured and to endure, to keep your feelings and sym- 
pathies in full exercise, without concerning yourself more 
in the fate of others than you cannot possibly avoid.” 

‘‘ Well, Mr. Oldbuck, it may be so ; but as yet I resem 
ble you more in your practice than in your theory, for 1 
cannot help being deeply interested in the fate of the 
family we have just left.” 

‘‘ And well you may,” replied Oldbuck ; “ Sir Arthur’s 
embarrassments have of late become so many and so 
pressing, that I am surprised you have not heard of them 
— And then his absurd and expensive operations carried 
on by this High-German landlouper, Dousterswivel” 

‘‘ I think I have seen that person, when, by some rare 
chance, I happened to be in the coffee-room at Fairport 
— a tall, beetle-browed, awkward-built man, who entered 
upon scientific subjects, as it appeared to my ignorance at 
least, with more assurance than knowledge, was very arbi- 
trary in laying down and asserting his opinions, and mix- 
ed the terms of science with a strange jargon of mysti- 
cism ; a simple youth whispered me that he was an 
Illumine^ and carried on an intercourse with the invisible 
world.” 

“ O the same — the same — he has enough of practical 
knowledge to speak scholarly and wisely to those of whose 
Intelligence he stands in awe ; and, to say the truth, this 
faculty, joined to his matchless impudence, imposed upon 
me for some time when 1 first knew him. But I have 
since understood, that when he is among fools and wo- 
mankind, he exhibits himself as a perfect charlatan — talks 
of the magisterium — of sympathies and antipathies — of 
the cabala — of the divining rod — and all the trumpery 
with which the Rosycrucians cheated a darker age, and 
which, to our eternal disgrace, has in some degree reviv- 
ed in our own. My friend Heavysterne knew this fellow 
abroad, and unintentionally (for he, you must know, is, 
God bless the mark, a sort of believer) let me into a good 
deal of his real character. Ah ! were I caliph for a day. 
as honest Abon Hassan wished to be, I would scourge 
[ne these jugglers out of the commonwealth with rodsol 


THE ANTKtUARY. 


137 


scorpions — They debauch the spirit of the ignorant and 
credulous with mystical trash as effectually as if they 
had besotted their brains with gin, and then pick their 
pockets with the same facility. And now has this stroll- 
ing blackguard and mountebank put the finishing blow to 
the ruin of an ancient and honourable family !” 

“ But how could he impose upon Sir Arthur to any 
ruinous extent 9” 

“ Why, I don’t know — Sir Arthur is a good honourable 
gentleman — but, as you may see from his loose ideas con- 
cerning the Pikish language, he is by no rneans very strong 
in the understanding. His estate is strictly entailed, and he 
has been always an embarrassed man. This rapparee 
promised him mountains of wealth, and an English com- 
pany was found to advance large sums of money — I fear 
on Sir Arthur’s guarantee. Some gentlemen — I was ass 
enough to be one — took small shares in the concern, and 
Sir Ai'thur himself made great outlay ; we were trained 
on by specious appearances and more specious lies, and 
now, like John Bunyan, we awake, and behold it is a 
dream.” 

“ I am surprised that you, Mr. Oldbuck, should have 
encouraged Sir Arthur by your example.” 

“ Why,” said Oldbuck, dropping his large grizzleo 
eye-brow, “ I am something surprised 'and ashamed at i' 
myself ; it was not the lucre of gain — nobody cares lesf 
for money (to be a prudent man) than I do — but I though 
I might risk this small sum. It will be expected (thougl 
I am sure I cannot see why) that I should give something; 
to any one who will be kind enough to rid me of that slip 
of womankind, my niece, Mary M’Intyre ; and perhapj 
it may be thought I should do something to get tha' 
iackanapes, her brother, on in the army. In either case 
to treble my venture would have helped me out. And 
besides, I had some idea that the Phoenicians had in for 
mer times wrought copper in that very spot. That cun 
ning scoundrel, Dousterswivel, found out my blunt side 
and brought strange tales (d — n him) of appearances c i 

VOL. I. 


138 


THE ANTIQ,UA11T. 


old shafts, and vestiges of mining operations, conducted 
in a manner quite different from those of modern times ; 
and I — in short, I was a fool, and there is an end. M} 
loss is not much worth speaking about ; but Sir Arthur’s 
engagements are, I understand, very deep, and my heart 
aches for him, and the poor young lady who must share 
his distress.” 

Here the conversation paused, until renewed in the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

If I may trust the flattering eye of. sleep, 

My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 

My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne, 

And all this day an unaccustom’d spirit 

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 

Romeo and JiUiet, 


The account of Sir Arthur’s unhappy adventure had 
led Oldbuck somewhat aside from his purpose of cate- 
chising Lovel concerning the cause of his residence at 
Fairport. He was now, however, resolved to open the 
subject. “ Miss Wardour was formerly known to you, 
she tells me, Mr. Lovel ?” 

“ He had had the pleasure,” Lovel answered, ‘‘ to see 
her at Mrs. Wilmot’s in Yorkshire.” 

“ Indeed ! you never mentioned that to me before, 
and you did not accost her as an old acquaintance.” 

“ I — I did not know,” said Lovel, a good deal embar- 
rassed, “ it was the same lady, till we met; and then it 
was my duty to wait till she should recognize me.” 

“ I am aware of your delicacy ; the knight’s a punc- 
tilious old fool, but I promise you his daughter is above 
all nonsensical ceremony and prejudice. And now, since 
you have found a new set of friends here, may I ask if 
you intend to leave Fairport as soon as you proposed ?” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


139 


What if I should answer your question by another,’’ 
replied Lovel, “ and ask you what is your opinion of 
dreams 

“ Of dreams, you foolish lad ! — why, what should 1 
think of them but as the deceptions of imagination when 
reason drops the reins — I know no difference betwixt 
them and the hallucinations of madness — the unguided 
horses run away with the carriage in both cases, only 
in the one the coachman is drunk, and in the other he 
slumbers. What says our Marcus Tullius — Siinsanorum 
visis Jides non est hahenda, cur crcdatur somnientium 
visis, qucc multo eiiam perturb atior a sunt, non intelligo.''' 

‘‘ Yes, sir, but Cicero also tells us, that as he who 
passes the whole day in darting the javelin must some- 
times hit the mark, so, amid tlie cloud of nightly dreams, 
some may occur consonant to future events.” 

‘‘ Ay — that is to say, you have hit the mark in youi 
own sage opinion ^ Lord ! Lord ! how this world is 
given to folly ! Well, I will allow for once the Oneiro- 
critical science — I will give faith to the exposition of 
dreams, and say a Daniel hath arisen to interpret them, 
if you can prove to me that that dream of yours has 
pointed to a prudent line of conduct.” 

“ Tell me then,” answered Lovel, “ why, when I was 
hesitating whether to abandon an enterprize, which I 
have perhaps rashly undertaken, 1 should last night dream 
I saw your ancestor pointing to a motto which encouraged 
me to perseverance Why should I have thought of 
those words which I cannot remember to have heard be- 
fore, which are in a language unknown to me, and which 
yet conveyed, when translated, a lesson which I could so 
plainly apply to my own circumstances 9” 

The Antiquary burst into a fit of laughing. ‘‘ Excuse 
me, my young friend, but it is thus we silly mortals de- 
ceive ourselves, and look out of doors for motives which 
originate in our own wilful will. I think I can help out 
the cause of your vision. You were so abstracted in 
your contemplations yesterday after dinner, as to pa> 
little attention to the discourse between Sir Arthur and 


140 


THE AXTiqUAIlY. 


me, until we fell upon the controversy concerning the 
Piks, which terminated so abruptly ; but I remember 
producing to Sir Arthur a book printed by my ancestor, 
and making him observe the motto ; your mind was bent 
elsewhere, but your ear bad mechanically received and 
retained the sounds, and your busy fancy, stirred by 
Grizel’s legend,! presume, had introduced this scrap ot 
German into your dream. As for the waking wisdom 
which seized on so frivolous a circumstance as an apcJogy 
for persevering in some course which it could find no bet- 
ter reason to justify, it is exactly one of those juggling 
tricks which the sagest of us play off now and then, to 
gratify our inclination at the expense of our understand- 

“ I own it,” said Lovel, blushing deeply — “ I believe 
y^ou are right, Mr. Oldbuck, and I ought to sink in your 
esteem for attaching a moment’s consequence to such a 
frivolity ; but I was tossed by contradictory wishes and 
resolutions, and you know how slight a line will tow a 
boat when afloat on the billows, though a cable would 
hardly move her when pulled up on the beach.” 

“ Right, right,” exclaimed the Antiquary ; “ fall in my 
opinion ? — not a whit — I love thee the better, man — why, 
we have story for story against each other, and I can think 
with less shame on having exposed myself about that cursec 
Praetorium — though I am still convinced Agricola’s camp 
must have been somewhere in this neighbourhood. And 
now, Lovel, my good lad, be sincere with me — What make 
you from Wittenberg ? — Why have you left your own coun- 
l:y and professional pursuits, for an idle residence in such 
a piace as Fairport ? — A truant disposition, I fear.” 

“ Even so,” replied Lovel, patiently submitting to an 
interrogatory which he could not well evade ; — “ yet I am 
so detached from all the world, have so few in whom I am 
interested, or who are interested in me, that my very state 
of destitution gives me independence. He, whose good 
or evil fortune affects himself alone, has the best right to 
pursue It according to his own fancy.” 

“ Pardon me, young man,” said Oldbuck, laying his 
hand kindly on his shoulder, and making a full halt — 


THE ANTIC^TJARY. 


141 


‘ sufflamina — a little patience if you please. I will sup- 
pose that you have no friends to share, or rejoice in youi 
success in life, that you cannot look back to those to whom 
you owe gratitude, or forward to those to whom you 
ought to afford protection — but it is no less incumbent on 
you to move steadily in the path of duty — for your active 
exertions are due not only to society, but in humble grat- 
itude to the Being who made you a member of i , with 
powers to serve yourself and others.” 

“ But I am unconscious of possessing such powers,” 
said Lovel, somewhat impatiently ; “I ask nothing of 
society but the permission of walking innoxiously through 
the path of life, without jostling others, or permitting 
myself to be jostled. I owe no man anything — I have 
the means of maintaining myself with complete indepen- 
dence, and so moderate are my wishes in this respect, 
that even these means, however limited, rather exceed 
than fall short of them.” 

‘‘ Nay, then,” said Oldbuck, removing his hand, and 
turning again to the road, “ if you are so true a philoso- 
pher as to think you have money enough, there’s no more 
to be said — I cannot pretend to be entitled to advise you 
— you have attained the acme — the summit of perfection. 
And how came Fairport to be the selected abode of so 
much self-denying philosophy It is as if a worshipper 
of the true religion had set up his staff by choice among 
the multifarious idolaters of the land of Egypt. There is 
not a man in Fairport who is not a devoted worshipper of 
the Golden Calf — the Mammon of unrighteousness — 
why, even I, man, am so infected by the bad neighbour- 
hood, that I feel inclined occasionally to become an idol- 
ater myself.” 

“ My principal amusements being literary,” answered 
Lovel, and circumstances which I cannot mention hav- 
ing induced me, for a time at least, to relinquish the 
military service, I have pitched on Fairport as a place 
where I might follow my pursuits without any of those 
femptations to society, which a more elegant circle might 
liave presented to me.” 


142 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


“ Aha !” replied Oldbuck, knowingly, — I begin to 
understand your application of my ancestor’s motto — you 
are a candidate for public favour, though not in the way 
I first suspected, — you are ambitious to shine as a literary 
character, and you hope to merit favour by labour and 
perseverance ?” 

Lovel, who was rather closely pressed by the inquisi- 
tiveness of the old gentleman, concluded it would be best 
to let him remain in the error which he had gratuitously 
adopted. 

“ I have been at times foolish enough,” he replied, 

to nourish some thoughts of the kind.” 

“ Ah, poor fellow ! nothing can be more melancholy 5 
unless, as young men sometimes do, you had fancied 
yourself in love with some trumpery specimen of wo- 
mankind, which is, indeed, as Shakspeare truly says, 
pressing to death, whipping, and hanging, all at once.” 

He then proceeded with inquiries, which he was some- 
times kind enough to answer himself. For this good old 
gentleman had, from his antiquarian researches, acquirea 
a delight in building theories out of premises w^hich were 
often far from affording sufficient ground for them ; and 
being, as the reader must have remarked, sufficiently 
opinionative, he did not readily brook being corrected, 
either in matter of fact or judgment, even by those who 
were principally interested in tlie subjects on which he 
peculated. He went on, therefore, chalking out Lovel’s 
literary career for him. 

“ And with what do you propose to commence your 
debut as a man of letters ^ — but 1 guess — poetry — poetry 
— ^the soft seducer of youth. Yes ! there is an acknow- 
ledging modesty of confusion in your eye and manner : 
— And where lies your vein 9 Are you inclined to soar 
to the higher regions of Parnassus, or to flutter around 
the base of the hill 9 ” 

“ I have hitherto attempted only a few lyrical pieces,” 
said Lovel. 

/ Just as I supposed — pruning your wing, and hop- 
ping from spray to spray. But I trust you intend a bold- 
er flight — Observe, I would by no means recommend 


THE ANTIQ,XJARY. 


143 


3 ^our persevering in this unprofitable pursuit — but you 
say you are quite independent of the public caprice 

“ Entirely so,” replied Lovel. 

‘‘ And that you are determined not to adopt a more 
active course of life 9” 

“ For the present, such is my resolution,” replied the 
young man. 

“ Why, then, it only remains for me to give you my 
best advice and assistance in the object of your pursuit. 
I have myself published two essays in the Antiquarian 
Repository — and therefore am an author of experience. 
There was my Remarks on Hearne’s edition of Robert 
of Gloucester, signed Scrutator ; and the other signed 
Indagator, upon a passage in Tacitus — I might add, 
what attracted considerable notice at the time, and that 
is my paper in the Gentleman’s Magazine, upon the in- 
scription of (Elia Lelia, which I subscribed (Edipus — 
So you see I am not an apprentice in the mysteries of 
author-craft, and must necessarily understand the taste 
and temper of the times. And now once more, what do 
you intend to commence with 

‘‘ I have no instant thoughts of publishing.” 

“ Ah ! that will never do ; you must have the fear 
of the public before your eyes in all your undertakings. 
Let us see now — A collection of fugitive pieces — but 
no — your fugitive poetry is apt to become stationary with 
the bookseller. It should be something at once solid and 
attractive — none of your romances or anomalous novelties 
— 1 would have you take high ground at once — Let me 
see — What think you of a real epic — the grand old- 
fashioned historical poem which moved through twelve or 
twenty-fotjr books — we’ll have it so — I’ll supply you with 
a subject — The battle between the Caledonians and Ro- 
mans — the Caledoniad ; or,Invasion Repelled — Let that 
be the title — It will suit the present taste, and you may 
throw in a touch of the times.” 

‘‘ But the invasion of Agricola was not repelled.” 


144 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


“ No ; but you are a poet — free of the corporation, and 
as little bound down to truth or probability as Virgil him- 
self — ^You may defeat the Romans in spite of Tacitus.” 

“ And pitch Agricola’s camp at the Kaim of — what do you 
call it,” answered Lovel, “in defiance of Edie Ochiltree?’ 

“ No more of that, an thou lovest me — And yet, I dare 
say, ye may unwittingly speak most correct truth in both 
instances, in despite of the toga of the historian, and the 
blue gown of the mendicant.” 

“ Gallantly counselled — Well, I will do my best — your 
kindness will assist me with local information.” 

“ Will I not, man ^ — why, 1 will write the critical and 
historical notes on each canto, and draw out the plan of 
the story myself. I pretend to some poetical genius, Mr. 
Lovel, only 1 was never able to write verses.” 

“ It is a pity, sir, that you should have failed in a qual- 
ification somewhat essential to the art.” 

“ Essential ? — not a whit — it is the mere mechanical 
department — A man may be a poet without measuring 
spondees and dactyles like the ancients, or clashing the 
ends of lines into rhyme like the moderns, as one may 
be an architect though unable to labour like a stone-mason 
— Dost think Palladio or Vitruvius ever carried a hod .^” 

“ In that case, there should be two authors to each 
poem ; one to diink and plan, another to execute.” 

“ Why, it would not be amiss ; at any rate, we’ll make 
the experiment — not that I would wish to give my name 
to the public — assistance from a learned friend might be 
acknowledged in the preface after wdiat flourish your 
nature will — I am a total stranger to authorial vanity.” 

Lovel was much entertained by a declaration not very 
consistent with the eagerness wherewith his friend seemed 
to catch at an opportunity of coming before the public, 
though in a manner which rather resembled stepping up 
behind a carriage than getting into one. The Antiquary 
was, indeed, uncommonly delighted ; for, like many other 
men who spend their lives in obscure literary research, 
he had a secret ambition to appear in print, which was 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


145 


checked by cold fits of diffidence, fear of criticism, and 
habits of indolence and procrastination. “ But,” thought 
he, “ I may, like a second Teucer, discharge my shafts 
from behind the shield of my ally ; and admit that he 
should not prove to be a first- rate poet, I am in no shape 
answerable for his deficiencies, and the good notes may 
very probably help off an indifferent text. But he is — • 
he must be a good poet — he has the real Parnassian ab- 
straction — seldom answers a question till it is twice re- 
peated — drinks his tea scalding, and eats without know- 
ing what he is putting into his mouth. This is the real 
cestus^ihe awen of the Welch bards, ih^divinus afflatus 
that transports the poet beyond the limits of sublunary 
things — His visions, too, are very symptomatical of po- 
etic fury — I must recollect to send Caxon to see he puts 
out his candle to-night — poets and visionaries are apt to 
be negligent in that respect.” Then, turning to his com- 
panion, he expressed himself aloud in continuation. 

“ Yes, my dear Lovel, you shall have full notes ; and, 
indeed, I think we may introduce the whole of the 
Essay on Castrametation into the appendix — it will 
give great value to the work. Then we will revive the 
good old forms so disgracefully neglected in modern 
times. You shall invoke the Muse — and certainly she 
ought to be propitious to an author, who, in an aposta- 
tizing age, adheres with the faith of Abdiel to the an- 
cient form of adoration — Then we must have a vision 
< — in which the genius of Caledonia shall appear to 
Galgacus, and show him a procession of the real Scot- 
tish monarchs — and in the notes I will have a hit at 
Boethius — no ; I must not touch that topic, now that 
Sir Arthur is likely to have vexation enough besides— 
but I’ll annihilate Ossian, Macpherson,and Mac-Cribb.” 

“ But we must consider the expense of publication,” 
said Lovel, willing to try whether this hint would fall 
like cold water on the blazing zeal of his self-elected 
coadjutor, 

“ Expense! ’’said Mr. Oldbuck, pausing, and mechan- 
ically fumbling in his pocket — ‘‘ that is true — I would 

VOL. 1. 


146 


THE ANTIQUARY, 


wish to do something — But you would not like to publish 
oy subscription 

“ By no means,” answered LfOvel. 

“ No, no !” gladly acquiesced the Antiquary. “ It is 
not respectable. — I’ll tell you what ; I believe I know a 
bookseller who has a value for my opinion, and will risk 
print and paper, and I will get as many copies sold for 
you as I can.” 

“ O, I am no mercenary author/’ answered Lovel 
smiling ; “ 1 only wish to be out of risk of loss.” 

“ Hush ! hush ! we’ll take care of that — throw it all 
on the publishers. I do long to see your labours com- 
menced. You will choose blank verse, doubtless ? — it 
is more grand and magnificent for a historical subject , 
and, what concerneth you, my friend, it is, I have an 
idea, more easily written.” 

This conversation brought them to Monkbarns, where 
the Antiquary had to undergo a chiding from his sister, 
who, though no philosopher, was waiting to deliver a lec- 
ture to him in the portico. “ Guide us, Monkbarns, are 
things no dear eneugh already, but ye maun be raising 
the very fish on us, by giving that randy, Luckie Muckle- 
backit, just what she likes to ask ?” 

Why, Grizel,” said the sage, somewhat abashed at 
this unexpected attack, I thought I made a very fair 
bargain.” 

“ A fair bargain ! when ye gied the limmer a full half 
o’ what she seekit ! — An ye will be a wife-carle, and buy 
fish at your ain hands, ye suld never bid muckle mair than 
a quarter. And the impudent quean had the assurance 
to come up and seek a dram — But I trow, Jenny and 1 
sorted her !” 

“ Truly,” said Oldbiick, (with a sly look to his com- 
panion,) “ I think our estate was gracious that kept us out 
of hearing of that controversy. Well, well, Grizel, 1 
was wrong for once in my life — ultra crepidam — I fairly 
admit. But hang expenses — care killed a cat — we’ll eat 
die fish, cost what it will. And then, Lovel, you must 
Know 1 pressed you to stay here to-day, the rather be* 


THE ANTIQ.rAET* 


147 


cause our cheer will be better than usual, yesterday hav- 
ing been a gaude-day — I love the reversion of a feast 
better than tlie feast itself. I delight in the analecta, the 
collectanea, as I may call them, of the preceding day’s 
dinner, which appear on such occasions — And see, there 
is Jenny going to ring the dinner-bell.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

Be this letter delivered with haste — haste — post-haste ! Ridc^ villain, ride 
— for thy life — for thy life — for thy life !” 

Ancient Indorsation of Letters of Importance 


Leaving Mr. Oldbuck and his friend to enjoy their 
hard bargain of fish, we beg leave to transport the reader 
to the back-parlour of the postmaster’s house atFairport, 
where his wife, he himself being absent, was employed in 
assorting for delivery the letters which had come by the 
Edinburgh post. This is very often in country towns the 
period of the day when gossips find it particularly agree- 
able to call on the man or woman of letters, in order, 
from the outside of the epistles, and, if they are not 
belied, occasionally from the inside also, to amuse them- 
selves with gleaning information, or forming conjectures 
about the correspondence and affairs of their neighbours 
Two females of this description were, at the time we men- 
tion, assisting, or impeding, Mrs. Mailsetter in her official 
duty. 

“ Eh, preserve us, sirs,” said the butcher’s wife, 
there’s ten, eleven — twal letters to Tennant &; Co. — 
lliae folk do mair business than a’ the rest o’ the burgh.” 

“ Ay , but see, lass,” answered tlie baker’s lady, 
'• there is twa o’ them faulded unco square, and sealed 
at the tae side — I doubt there will be protested oills in 
them.” 


148 


THE ANTIttUARY. 


Is there ony letters come yet for Jenny Caxon 
inquired the woman of joints and giblets — “ the lieuten- 
ant’s been awa three weeks.” 

“ Just ane on Tuesday was a week,” answered the 
dame of letters. 

Was’t a ship-letter ?” asked the Fornarina. 

“ In troth was’t.” 

“ It wad be frae the lieutenant then,” replied the mis- 
tress of the rolls, somewhat disappointed — I never 
thought he wad hae lookit ower his shouther after her.” 

“ Odd, here’s another,” quoth Mrs. Mailsetter. “ A 
ship-letter — post-mark, Sunderland.” All rush’d to seize 
it, — “ Na, na, leddies,” said Mrs. Mailsetter, interfering, 
“ I hae had eneugh o’ that wark — Ken ye that Mr. Mailset- 
ter got an unco rebuke frae the secretary at Edinburgh, for 
a complaint that was made about the letter of Aily Bis- 
set’s that ye opened, Mrs. Shortcake T’ 

Me opened !” answered the spouse of the chief 
baker of Fairport; ‘‘ ye ken yoursell, madam, it just 
cam open o’ free will in my hand — What could I help it 
— folk suld seal wi’ better wax.” 

“ Weel I wot that’s true, too,” said Mrs. Mailsetter, 
who kept a shop of small wares, ‘‘ and w^e have got some 
that I can honestly recommend, if ye ken ony body want- 
ing it. But the short and the lang o’t is, that we’ll lose 
the place gin there’s ony mair complaints o’ the kind.” 

“ Hout, lass ; the provost will take care o’ that.” 

“ Na, na ; I’ll neither trust to provost nor baillie,” said 
the postmistress, — “ but I wad aye be obliging and neigh- 
bourly, and I’m no again your looking at the outside of a 
letter neither — See, the seal has an anchor on’t — he’s 
done’t wi’ ane o’ his buttons I’m thinking.” 

‘‘ Show me ! show me !” quoth the wives of the chief 
butcher and chief baker ; and threw themselves on die 
supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth 
upon the pilot’s thumb, with curiosity as eager and scarce- 
ly less malignant. Mrs. Heukbane was a tall woman, she 
held the precious epistle up between her eyes and the 
window. Mrs. Shortcake a little squat personage, strain 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 149 

ed and .stood on tiptoe to have her share of the investi- 
gation. 

“ Ay, it’s frae him, sure eneugh,” said the butcher’s 
lady, — “ 1 can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and it’s 
written, like John Thomson’s wallet, frae end to end.” 

“ Haud it lower down, madam,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Shortcake, in a tone above the prudential whisper which 
their occupation required — “ haud it lower down — Div 
ye think naebody can read hand o’ writ but yoursell 

“ Whisht, whisht, sirs, for God’s sake !” said Mrs. 
Mailsetter, “ there’s somebody in the shop,” — then aloud 
— “ Look to the customers. Baby !” — 

Baby answered from without in a shrill tone — “ Its 
naebody but Jenny Caxon, ma’am, to see if there’s ony 
letters to her.” 

“ Tell her,” said the faithful postmistress, winking to 
her compeers, “ to come back the morn at ten o’clock, 
and I’ll let her ken — we havena had time to sort the mail 
letters yet — she’s aye in sic a hurry, as if her letters 
were o’ mair consequence than the best merchant’s o’ the 
town.” 

Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, 
could only draw her cloak about her to hide the sigh ol 
disappointment, and return meekly home to endure for 
another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by 
hope ^lelayed. 

“ There’s something about a needle and a pole,” said 
Mrs. Shortcake, to whom her taller rival in gossiping had 
at length yielded a peep at the subject of their curiosity. 

“ Now that’s downright shamefu’,” said Mrs. Heuk- 
bane, “ to scorn the poor silly gait of a lassie, after he’s 
keepit company wi’ her sae lang, and had his will o’ her, 
as I make nae doubt he has.” 

“ It’s but ower muckle to be doubted,” echoed Mrs. 
Shortcake ; — to cast up to her that her father’s a barber, 
and has a pole at his door, and that she’s but a manty- 
maker hersell ! Hout ! fy, for shame !” 

‘‘ Hout tout, leddies,” cried Mrs. Mailsetter, “ ye’re 
clean wrang — It’s a line out o’ ane o’ his sailor’s sangs that 

VOL. I 


150 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


I have heard him sing, about being true like the needle to 
the pole.” 

Weel, weel, 1 wish it ma}^ be sae,” said the charitable 
dame Heukbane, — “ but it disna look weel for a lassie like 
her to keep up a correspondence wi’ ane o’ the king’s 
officers.” 

J am no denying that,” said Mrs. Mailsetter ; but 
it’s a great advantage to the revenue of the post-office time 
love-letters — See, here’s five or six letters to Sir Artliur 
War dour — maist o’ them sealed wi’ wafers, and no wi’ 
wax — there will be a down-come there, believe me.” 

“ Ay ; they will be business letters, and no frae ony 
o’ his grand friends, that seals wi’ their coats of arms, as 
they ca’ them,” said Mrs. Heukbane ; “ pride will hae a 
fa’ — he hasna settled his account wi’ my gudeman, the 
deacon, for this twalmonth — he’s but slink, I doubt.” 

“ Nor wi’ huz for sax months,” echoed Mrs. Shortcake 
— “ He’s but a brunt crust.” 

‘‘ There’s a letter,” interrupted the trusty postmistress, 
“ from his son, the captain, I’m thinking — the seal has the 
same things wi’ the Knockwinnock carriage. He’ll be 
coming hame to see what he can save out o’ the fire.” 

The baronet thus dismissed, they took up the esquire — 
“ Twa letters for Monkbarns — they’re frae some o’ his 
learned friends now — See sae close as they’re written 
down to the very seal — and a’ to save sending a double 
letter — that’s just like Monkbarns himsell. When he gets 
a frank he fills it up exact to the weight of an unce, that 
a carvy-seed would sink the scale — but he’s ne’er a grain 
abune it. Weel I wot I wad be broken if 1 were to gie 
sic weight to the folk that come to buy our pepper and 
Drin\stone,and suchlike sweetmeats.” 

“ He’s a shabby body the laird o’ Monkbarns,” said 
Mrs. Heukbane, — “ he’ll make as muckle about buying a 
(ore quarter o’ lamb in August as about a back sey o’ 
l.-eef. Let’s taste another drap o’ the sinning — (perhaps 
she meant cinnamon) — waters, Mrs. Mailsetter, my dear 
— Ah ! lassies, an’ ye had kend his brother as I did-'- 
mony a time he wad slip in to see me wi’ a brace o’wild- 
deukcs in his pouch, when my first gi deman was awa at 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


151 


the Falkirk tryst — weel, weel — we’se no speak o’ that 
e’enow.” 

“ 1 winna say ony ill o’ this Monkbarns,” said Mrs. 
Shortcake ; “ his brother ne’er brought me ony wild 
deukes, and this is a douce honest man — we serve the 
family wi’ bread, and he settles wi’ buz ilka week — only 
he was in an unco kippage when we sent him a book in- 
stead o’ the nick-sticks^ whilk, he said, were the true an- 
cient way o’ counting between tradesmen and customers j 
and sae they are, nae doubt.” 

“ But look here, lasses,” interrupted Mrs. Mailsetter, 
“ here’s a sight for sair e’en ! What wad ye gie to ken 
what’s in the inside o’ this letter — this is new corn — I 
haena seen the like o’ this — For William Lovel, Esquire, 
at Mrs. Hadoway’s, High-street, Fairport, by Edinburgh, 
N. B. This is just the second letter he has had since he 
was here.” 

“ Lord’s sake, let’s see, lass ! Lord’s sake, let’s see ' 
— that’s him that the hale town kens naething about — and 
a weel-fa’ard lad he is — let’s see, let’s see !” Thus ejac- 
ulated the two wortliy representatives of mother Eve. 

“ Na, na, sirs,” exclaimed Mrs. Mailsetter ; “ hand 
awa’ — bide afF, I tellyou— this is nane o’ your fourpenny 
cuts that we might make up the value to the post-office 
amang ourselves if ony mischance befell it — the postage is 
five-and-twenty shillings — and here’s an order frae the 
Secretary to forward it to the young gentleman by ex- 
press, if he’s no at hame. Na, na, sirs, bide aff ; this 
maunna be roughly guided.” 

“ But just let’s look at the outside o’t, woman.” 

Nothing could be gathered from the outside, exce[)t 
remarks on the various properties which philosophers as- 
cribe to matter, — length, breadth, depth, and weight. The 
packet was composed of strong thick paper, imperviable 
by the curious eyes of the gossips, though they stared 
as if they would burst from their sockets. The seal 
was a deep and well-cut impression of arms, which defied 
all tampering. 


152 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ Odd, lass,” said Mrs. Shortcake, weighing it in her 
hand, and wishing, doubtless, that the too, too solid wax 
would melt and dissolve itself, “ I wad like to ken what’s 
in the inside o’ this, for that Lovel dings a’ that ever set 
foot on the plain-stanes o’ F airport — naebody kens what 
to make o’ him.” 

“ Weel, weel, leddies,” said the postmistress, “ we’se 
sit down and crack about it — Baby, bring ben the tea- 
water — Muckle obliged to ye for your cookies, Mrs. 
Shortcake — and we’ll steek the shop, and cry ben Baby, 
and take a hand at the cartes till the gudeman comes hame 
— and then we’ll try your braw veal sweet-bread that ye 
were so kind as send me, Mrs. Heukbane.” 

“ But winna ye first send awa Mr. Level’s letter 9” 
said Mrs. Heukbane. 

“ Troth I kenna wha to send wi’t till the gudeman comes 
hame, for auld Caxon toll’d me that Mr. Lovel stays a’ the 
day at Monkbarns — he’s in a high fever wi’ pu’ing the 
laird and Sir Arthur out o’ the sea.” 

“ Silly auld doited carles,” said Mrs. Shortcake ; 
‘‘ what gar’d them gang to the douking in a night like 
yestreen 

‘‘ I was gi’en to understand it was auld Edie that saved 
them,” said Mrs. Heukbane ; “ Edie Ochiltree, the 
blue-gown, ye ken — and that he pu’d the hale three out 
of the auld fish-pond, for Monkbarns had threepit on 
them to gang in till’t to see the wark o’ the monks lang 
syne.” 

“ Hout, lass, nonsense,” answered the postmistress , 

“ I’ll tell ye a’ about it, as Caxon toll’d it to me. Ye see. 
Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour, and Mr. Lovel, suld hae 
dined at Monkbarns” 

‘‘ But, Mrs. Mailsetter,” again interrupted Mrs. Heuk- 
bane, “ will ye no be for sending awa this letter by ex- 
press ^ there’s our powney and our callant hae gane 
express for the office or now, and the powney hasna gane 
abune thirty mile the day — Jock was sorting him up as I 
came ower bye.” 


THE ANTI q,U ARY. 


153 


« Why, Mrs. Heukbane,” said the woman of letters, 
pursing up her mouth, “ ye ken my gudeman likes to 
ride the expresses himsell — we maun gie our aiii fish 
guts to our ain sea-maws — it’s a red half-guinea to hin) 
every time he munts his mear — and I dare say he’ll be m 
sune — or I dare to say, it’s the same thing whether the 
gentleman gets the express this night or early next 
morning.” 

Only that Mr. Lovel will be in town before the ex- 
press gaes aff,” said Mrs. Heukbane, “ and whare are ye 
then, lass ? — but ye ken yere ain ways best.” 

“ Weel, weel, Mrs. Heukbane,” answered Mrs. Mail- 
setter, a little out of humour, and even out of counte- 
nance, “ I am sure I am never against being neighbour- 
like, and living, and letting live, as they say; and since I 
hae been sic a fule as to show you the post-office order — 
ou,nae doubt, it maun be obeyed — but I’ll no need your 
callant, mony thanks to ye — I’ll send little Davie on your 
j)owney, and that will be just five-and-threepence to ilka 
ane o’ us, ye ken.” 

Davie ! the Lord help ye, the bairn’s no ten year 
auld ; and, to be plain wi’ ye, our powney reists a bit, 
and it’s dooms sweer to the road, and naebody can man- 
age him but our Jock.” 

“ I’m sorry for that,” answered the postmistress grave- 
ly, “ it’s like we maun wait then till the gudeman comes 
hame, after a’ — for I wadna like to be responsible in 
trusting the letter to sic a callant as Jock — our Davie 
belangs in a manner to the office.” 

‘‘ Aweel, aweel, Mrs. Mailsetter, I see what ye wad 
be at — but an ye like to risk the bairn. I’ll risk the beast.” 

Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling pony 
was brought out of his bed of straw, and again equipped 
for service — Davie (a leathern post-bag strapped across 
his shoulders) was perched upon the saddle, with a tear 
in his eye, and a switch in his hand. Jock good-natur- 
edly led the animal out of the town, and, by the crack 
of his whip, and the hoop and halloo of his too well- 


154 


THE ANTKiUAHY. 

known voice, compelled it to take the road towards 
Monkbarns. 

Meanwhile the gossips, like the sibyls after consulting 
their leaves, arranged and combined the information ol 
•the evening, which flew next morning through a hundred 
channels, and in a hundred varieties, through the world ol' 
Fairport. Many, strange, and inconsistent, were the ru- 
mours to which their communications and conjectures 
gave rise. Some said Tennant & Co. were broken 
and that all their bills had come back protested — others, 
tinit they had got a great contract from government, and 
letters from the principal merchants at Glasgow, desiring 
to have shares upon a premium. One report stated that 
Lieutenant Taftril had acknowledged a private marriage 
vitli Jenny Caxon — another that he had sent her a letter, 
upbraiding her with the lowness of her birth and educa- 
lion, and bidding her an eternal adieu. Jt was generally 
rumoured that Sir Arthur VVardour’s affairs had fallen into 
irretrievable confusion, and this report was only doubted 
by the wise, because it was traced to Mrs. Mailselter’s 
shop, a source more famous for the circulation of news 
than for their accuracy. But all agreed that a packet 
from the Secretary of State’s office had arrived, direct- 
ed for Mr. Lovel, and that it had been forwarded by an 
orderly dragoon, despatched from the head-quarters at 
Edinburgh, who had galloped through Fairport without 
stopping, except just to inquire the way to Monkbarns. 
The reason of such an extraordinary mission to a very 
peaceful and retired individual, was variously explained. 
Some said Lovel was an emigrant noble, summoned to 
head an insurrection that had broken out in La Vendee — 
others, that he was a spy— others, that he was a general 
officer, who was visiting the coast privately — others, that 
he was a prince of the blood, who was travelling incognito. 

Meanwhile the progress of the packet, which occasion- 
ed so much speculation, towards its destined owner at 
Monkbarns, had been perilous and interrupted. The 
bearer, Davie Mailsetter, as little resembling a bold dra- 
goon as could well be imagined, was carried onwards 


THE ANTiq^UARY* 


155 


towards Monkbarns by the pony, so long as the animal 
had in his recollection the crack of his usual instrument of 
chastisement, and the shout of the butcher’s boy. But 
feeling how Davie, whose short legs were unequal to main- 
tain his balance, swung to and fro upon his back, the pony 
began to disdain further compliance with the intimations 
he had received. First, then, he slackened his pace to 
a walk. This was no point of quarrel between him and 
his rider, who had been considerably discomposed by the 
rapidity of his former motion, and who now took the op- 
portunity of his abated pace to gnaw a piece of ginger- 
bread which had been thrust into his hand by his mother 
in order to reconcile this youthful emissary of the post- 
office to the discharge of his duty. By and by the 
crafty pony availed himself of this surcease of discipline 
to twitch the rein out of Davie’s hands, and apply him- 
self to browze on the grass by the side of the lane. 
Sorely astounded by these symptoms of self-willed re- 
bellion, and afraid alike to sit or to fall, poor Davie lifted 
up his voice and wept aloud. The pony, hearing this 
pudder over his head, began apparently to think it would 
be best both for himself and Davie to return from 
whence they came, and accordingly commenced a retro- 
grade movement towards F airport. But, as all retreats 
are apt to end in utter rout, so the steed, alarmed by 
the boy’s cries, and by the flapping of the reins, which 
dangled about his forefeet — finding also his nose turned 
homeward, began to set off at a rate which, if Davie kept 
the saddle, (a matter extremely dubious) would soon have 
presented him at Heukbane’s stable-door, when, at a 
turn of the road, an intervening auxiliary, in the shape of 
old Edie Ochiltree, caught hold of the rein, and stopped 
his farther proceeding. “ Wha’s aught ye, callant '1 
whaten a gate that’s to ride 

“ I canna help it !” blubbered the express ; “ they 
ca’ me little Davie.” 

“ And where are ye gaun ?” 

I’m gaun to Monkbarns wi’ a letter.” 

“ Stirra, this is no the road to Monkbarns.” 


156 THE ANTIQUARY. 

But Davie could only answer the expostulation with 
sighs and tears. 

Old Edie was easily moved to compassion where 
cliildhood was in the case. “ I wasna gaun that gate,” 
he thought, “ but it’s the best o’ my way o’ life that I canna 
be weel out o’ my road. They’ll gie me quarters at 
Monkbarns readily eneugh, and I’ll e’en hirple awa there 
wi’ the wean, for it will knock it’s hams out, puir thing, 
if there’s no somebody to guide the powney. Sae ye 
liae a letter, hinney will ye let me see’t 9” 

“ I’m no gaun to let naebody see the letter,” sobbed 
the boy, “ till 1 gie’t to Mr. Lovel, for I am a faithfu’ 
servant o’ the office — if it werena for the powney.” 

“ Very right, my little man,” said Ochiltree, turning 
the reluctant pony’s head towards Monkbarns, “ but 
we’ll guide him atween us, if he’s no a’ the sweerer.” 

Upon the very height of Kinprunes, to which IMonk- 
barns had invited Lovel after their dinner, the Anti- 
quary, again reconciled to the once-degraded spot, was 
expatiating upon the topics the scenery afforded for a de- 
scription of Agricola’s camp at the . dawn of morning, 
when his eye was caught by the appearance of the men- 
dicant and his protege. “ What the devil ! — here comes 
old Edie, bag and baggage, I think.” 

The beggar explained his errand, and Davie, who in- 
sisted upon a literal execution of his commission by going 
on to Monkbarns, was with difficulty prevailed upon to 
surrender the packet to its proper owner, although he 
met him a mile nearer than the place he had been direct- 
ed to. “ But my minnie said, I maun be sure to get 
twenty shillings and five shillings for the postage, and ten 
shillings and sixpence for the express — there’s the paper.” 

“ Let me see — let me see,” said Oldbuck, putting on 
his spectacles, and examining the crumpled copy of regu- 
lations to which Davie appealed. “ Express, per man 
and horse, one day, not to exceed ten shillings and six- 
pence. One day 9 why, it’s not an hour — Man and 
horse 9 why, ’tis a monkey on a starved cat !” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


157 


“ Fatlier wad liac come himsell,” said Davie, “ on the 
inuckle red mear, an ye wad liae bidden till the morn’s 
night.” 

‘‘ Four-and-twenty hours after the regular date of 
delivery ! — You little cockatrice egg, do you understand 
the art of imposition so early 9” 

“ Hout, Monkbarns, dinna set your wit against a 
bairn,” said the beggar ; “ mind. the butcher risked his 
beast, and the wife her wean, and I am sure ten and 
sixpence is na ower muckle. Ye didna gang sae near 
wi’ Johnnie Howie, when” 

Lovel, who, sitting on the supposed Prcetorium, had 
glanced over the contents of the packet, now put an end 
to the altercation by paying Davie’s demand, and then 
turning to Mr. Oldbuck, with a look of much agitation, 
he excused himself from retirrning with him to Monk- 
barns that evening. “ I must instantly go to Fairport, 
and perhaps leave it on a moment’s notice ; your kind- 
ness, Mr. Oldbuck, I never can forget.” . 

“ Nc bad news, I hope said the Antiquary. 

“ Of a very chequered complexion,” answered his 
friend — Farewell — in good or bad fortune I will not for- 
get your regard.” 

“ Nay, nay — stop a moment. If — if — (making an 
effort) — if there be any pecuniary inconvenience — I have 
fifty — or a hundred guineas at your service — till — till 
Wliitsunday — or indeed as long as you please.” 

‘‘ 1 am much obliged, Mr. Oldbuck, but I am amply 
provided,” said his mysterious young friend. “ Excuse 
me — I really cannot sustain further conversation at pres- 
ent. I will write or see you, before I leave Fairport— 
that is, if 1 find myself obliged to go.” So saying, he shook 
the Antiquary’s hand warmly, turned from him, and walk- 
ed rapidly towards the town, “ staying no longer question.” 

“ Very extraordinary indeed,” said Oldbuck ; ‘‘ but 
there’s something about this lad I can never fathom ; and 
vet I cannot for my heart think ill of him neither. I 
must go home and take off the fire in the Green-Room, 
8 VOL. I. 


168 


THE INTICtTJARY. 


for none of my womankind will venture into it aftei 
twilight.” 

“ And how am I to win hame 9” blubbered the dis- 
consolate express. 

“ It’s a fine night,” said the Blue-gown, looking up to 
the skies ; “ 1 had as gude gang back to the town, and lake 
care o’ the wean.” 

“ Do so, do so, Edie ;” and, rummaging for some time 
in his huge waistcoat pocket till he lound the object oi 
his search, the Antiquary added, “ tliere’s sixpence to ye 
to buy sneeshin.” 


CHAPTER XVL 

“ I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal has not given me 
medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hang’d ; it could not be else. I have 
drunk medicines.’’ 

Second Part of Heni~ij 1 V. 

Regular for a fortnight were the inquiries of the An- 
tiquary at the veteran Caxon, whether he liad heard wlial 
Mr. Lovel was about ; and as regular were Caxon’s an- 
swers, “ that the town could learn naething about him 
whatever, except that he had received aniilier muckle 
letter or twa frae the south, and that he was never seen 
on the plain-stanes at a’.” 

“ How does he live, Caxon 9” 

“ Ou, Mrs. Hadoway just dresses him a beefsteak or 
a muttonchop, or makes him some friar’s chicken, or 
just what she likes hersell, and he eats it in the little red 
parlour off his bedroom. She canna get him to say 
that he likes ae thing better than anither ; and she makes 
him tea in a morning, and he settles honourably wi’ her 
every week.” 

“ But does he never stir abroad •?” 

“ He has clean gi’en up walking, and he sits a’ day in 
his room reading or writing ; a hantle letters he Inis writ- 
ten, but he wadna put them into our post-house, though 
Mrs Hadoway offered to carrv them hersell, but sent 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


159 


hem a’ under ae cover to the sheriff, and it’s Mrs. Mail- 
setter’s belief that the sheriff sent his groom to put them 
into the [)ost-office at Tannonburgh ; it’s my puir thought 
tliat he jaloused their looking into his letters at Fairport; 
and weel had he need, for my puir daughter Jenny” 

“ Tut, don’t plague me with your womankind, Caxon 
About this poor young lad — Does he write nothing bul 
letters 9” 

“ Ou, ay hale sheets o’ other things, Mrs. Hadoway 

says. She wishes muckle he could be gotten to take a 
walk ; she thinks he’s but looking very puirly, and his 
appetite’s clean gane ; but he’ll no hear o’ ganging ower 
the door-stane — him that used to walk sae muckle too.” 

“ That’s wrong ; 1 have a guess what he’s busy about ; 
but he must not work too hard neither. I’ll go and see 
him this very day — he’s deep, doubtless, in the Caledo- 
niad.” 

Having formed this manful resolution, Mr. Oldbuck 
equipped himself for the expedition with his thick walk- 
ing-shoes and gold-headed cane, muttering the while the 
words of Falstaff which we have chosen for the motto of 
this chapter ; for the Antiquary was himself rather sur- 
prised at the degree of attachment which he could not 
but acknowledge he entertained for this stranger. The 
riddle was notwithstanding easily solved. Lovel had 
many attractive qualities, but he won our Antiquary’s heart 
by being on most occasions an excellent listener. 

A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an ad- 
venture with Mr. Oldbuck, and one which he did not often 
care to undertake. He hated greetings in the market- 
place ; and there were generally loiterers in the streets to 
persecute him either about the news of the day, or about 
some petty })ieces of business. So on this occasion, 
he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport, than it 
was “ Good morrow, Mr. Oldbuck — a sight o’ you’s gude 
for sair een — what d’ye think of the news in the Sun tiie 
flay — they say the great attempt will be made in a 
fortnight.” 

1 wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I 
might hear no more about it.” 


160 


THE ANTK^UAIIY. 


“ Morikbarns, your honour,” said the nursery and 
seedsman, “ 1 hope the plants gied satisfaction ? and if 
ye wanted ony flower-roots fresh frae Holland, or (this in 
a lower key) an anker or twa o’ Cologne gin, ane o’ our 
brigs cam in yestreen.” 

“ Thank ye, thank ye, — no occasion at present, Mr 
Crabtree,” said the Antiquary, pushing resolutely onward 

“ Mr. Oldbuck,” said the town-clerk, (a more impor- 
tant person, who came in front and ventured to stop the 
old gentleman,) “ the provost,understanding you were in 
town, begs on no account that you’ll quit it wdthowt see- 
ing him ; he wants to speak to ye about bringing the 
water frae the Fairwell-spring through a part o’ your 
lands.” 

‘‘ What the deuce ! — have they nobody’s land but 
mine to cut and carve on *? — I won’t consent, tell them.” 

“ And the provost,” said the clerk, going on, without 
noticing the rebuff, “ and the council, wad be agreeable 
I hat you should hae the auld stanes at Donagild’s chapel, 
that ye w^as wussing to hae.” 

“ Eh 9 — what — Oho, that’s another story — Well, 
>v*ell, ril call upon the provost, and we’ll talk about it.” 

“ But ye maun speak your mind on’t forthwith. Monk- 
barns, if ye want the stanes ; for deacon Harlewalls thinks 
the carved through-stanes might be put with advantage 
on the front of the new council-house — that is, the twa 
cross-legged figures that the callants used to ca’ Robin 
and Bobbin, ane on ilka door-cheek ; and the other stane, 
that they ca’d Ailie Dailie, abune the door. It will be 
very tastefu’, the deacon says, and just in the style of 
modern Gothic.” 

“ Lord deliver me from this Gothic generation !” ex- 
claimed the Antiquary, — “ A monument of a knight-tem- 
plar on each side of a Grecian porch, and a Madonna on 
the top of it ! — O crimini ! — Well, tell the provost 1 wish 
to have the stones, and we’ll not differ about the water- 
course. — It’s lucky 1 happened to come this w'ay, to-day.” 

They parted mutually satisfied ; but the wily clerk had ' 
most reason to exult in the dexterity he had displayed, 
since the whole proposal of an exchange between the 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


161 


monuments, (which the council had determined to remove 
as a nuisance, because they ericroaclied three feet upon 
the public road,) and the privilege of conveying the 
water to the burgh through the estate of Monkbarns, was 
an idea which had originated with himself upon the 
pressure of the moment. 

Through these various entanglements, Monkbarns (to 
use the phrase by which he was disting lished in the 
country) made his way at length to Mrs. Hadoway’s. 
This good woman was the widow of a late clergyman at 
Fairport, who had been reduced, by her husband’s un- 
timely death, to that state of straitened and embarrassed 
circumstances in which the widows of the Scotch clergy 
are too often found. The tenement which she occupied, 
and the furniture of which she was possessed, gave her the 
means of letting a part of her house, and as Lovel had 
been a quiet, regular, and profitable lodger, and had 
qualified the necessary intercourse which they had togeth- 
er with a great deal of gentleness and courtesy, M»-s. 
Hadoway, not, perhaps, much used to such kindly treat- 
ment, had become greatly attached to her lodger, and was 
profuse in every sort of personal attention which circum- 
stances permitted her to render him. To cook a dish 
somewhat better than ordinary for the “poor young gen- 
tleman’s dinner to exert her interest with those who 
remembered her husband, or loved her for her own sake 
and his, in order to procure scarce vegetables, or some- 
thing which her simplicity supposed might tempt her 
lodger’s appetite, was a labour in which she delighted, 
althcKigh she anxiously concealed it from the pe»'son who. 
was its object. She did not adopt this secrecy of be- 
nevolence to avoid the laugh of those who might suppose 
that an oval face and dark eyes, with a clear brown 
complexion, though belonging to a woman of five-and- 
forty, and inclosed wdthin a widow’s close-drawn pinners, 
might possibly still aim at making conquests ; for, to say 
truth, such a ridiculous suspicion having never entered 
jito her own head, she could not anticipate its having b rdi 

VOL. I. 


162 


THE ANTiqUARY. 


In that of any one else. But she concealed her attentions 
solely out of delicacy to her guest, whose power of repay- 
ing them she doubted as much as slu; believed in his incli- 
nation to do so, and in his being likely to feel extreme pain 
at leaving any ‘of her civilities unrequited. She now 
opened tlie door to Mr. Oldbuck, and her surjirise at see- 
ing him brought tears into her eyes, which she could 
hardly restrain. 

“ 1 am glad to see you, sir — I am very glad to see you. 
My poor gentleman is, I am afraid, very unwell ; and O, 
Mr. Oldbuck, he’ll see neither doctor, nor minister, nor 
writer ! And think what it would be, if, as my poor Mr. 
Hadoway used to say, a man was to die without advice of 
the three learned faculties.” 

' ‘‘ Greatly better than with them,” grumbled the cynical 
Antiquary. “1 tell you, Mrs. Hadoway, the clergy live 
by our sins, the medical faculty by our diseases, and the 
law gentry by our misfortunes.” 

“ O fie, Monkbarns, to hear the like o’ that frae you ! — 
But ye’ll walk up and see the poor young lad 9 — hegh, 
sirs, sae young and weel-favoured — and day by day he 
has eat less and less, and now he hardly touches ony 
thing, only just pits a bit on the plate to make fashion, 
and his poor cheek has turned every day thinner and 
paler, sae that he now really looks as auld as me, that 
might be his mother — no that I might be just that 
neither, but something very near it.” 

‘‘ Why does he not take some exercise said Old- 
buck. 

“ I think we have persuaded him to do that, for he has 
bought a horse from Gibbie Golightly, the galloping 
groom. A gude judge o’ horse-flesh Gibbie taidd our 
lass that he was — for he offered him a beast he thought 
w^ad answer him weel eneugh, as he was a bookish man, 
but Mr. Lovel wadna look at it, and bought ane might 
serve the Master o’ Morphie — they keep it at the Graeme’s 
Arms ower the street — and he rode out yesterday morn- 
ing and this morning before breakfast — But winna ye 
walk up to his room 9” 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIT. 


163 


Presently, presently ; — but lias he no visiters 

“ O dear, Mr. Oldbuck, not ane ; if he wadna receive 
.hem when he was weel and sprightly, what cliance is 
there of ony body in Fairport looking in upon him now ?’ 

Ay, ay, very true — 1 should have been surprised 
had it been otherwise — come, show me up stairs, Mrs. 
Hadoway, lest I make a blunder, and go where I should 
not.” 

The good landlady showed Mr. Oldbuck up her narrow 
staircase, warning him of every turn, and lamenting all 
the while that he was laid under the necessity of mount- 
ing up so high. At length, she gently tapped at the 
door of her guest’s parlour. “ Come in,” said Lev- 
el ; and Mrs. Hadoway ushered in the Laird of Monk- 
barns. 

The little apartment was neat and clean, and decently 
furnished — ornamented too by such reliques of her youth- 
ful arts of sempstress-ship as Mrs. Hadoway had retain- 
ed ; but it was close, overheated, and, as it appeared to 
Oldbuck, an unwholesome situation for a young person in 
delicate health, an observation which ripened his resolu- 
tion touching a project that had already occurred to him in 
Level’s behalf. With a writing table before him, on 
which lay a quantity of books and papers, Lovel was 
seated on a couch, in his night-gown and slippers. Old- 
buck was shocked at the change which had taken place 
m his personal appearance. His cheek and brow had 
assumed a ghastly white, except where a round bright 
spot of hectic red formed a strong and painful contrast, 
totally different from the general cast of hale and hardy 
complexion which had formerly overspread and some- 
what embrowned his countenance. Oldbuck observed, 
that the dress he wore belonged to a deep mourning suit, 
and a coat of the same colour hung on a chair near him. 
As the Antiquary entered, Lovel arose and came forward 
to welcome him. 

“ This is very kind,” he said, shaking him by the hand, 
and thanking him warmly for his visit ; “ this is very 
kind, and has anticipated a visit with which I intended 


164 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


to trouble you — you must know 1 have become a horse- 
man lately.” 

‘‘ I understand as much from Mrs. Hadoway — f on]}/ 
hope, m}' good young friend, you have been fortunate in 
a quiet horse — I myself inadvertently bought one from 
the said Gibbie Golightly, which brute ran two miles on 
end with me after a pack of hounds, with which 1 had nc 
more to do than the last year’s snow, and after affording 
infinite amusement, I suppose, to the whole hunting field, 
he was so good as to deposit me in a dry ditch — I hope 
yours is a more peaceful beast 

“ I hope at least we shall make our excursions on a 
better plan of mutual understanding.” 

“ That is to say, you think yourself a good horseman ?” 

“ I would not willingly,” answered Lovel, “ confess 
myself a very bad one.” 

“ No ; all you young fellows think that would be equal 
to calling yourselves tailors at once — But, have you had 
experience ^ for, crede experto^ a horse in a passion is 
no joker.” 

“ Why, I should be sorry to boast myself as a great 

horseman, but when I acted as aid-de-camp to Sir 

in the cavalry-action at , last year, I saw many 

better cavaliers than myself dismounted.” 

“ Ah ! you have looked in the face of the grisly God of 
arms then — you are acquainted with the frowns of Mars 
armipotent ? That experience fills up the measure of your 
qualifications for the epopea ! The Britons, however, you 
will remember, fought in chariots — covinarii is the phrase 
of Tacitus — you recollect the fine description of their 
dashing among the Roman infantry — although the histo- 
rian tells us how ill the rugged face of the ground was 
calculated for equestrian combat — and truly, upon the 
whole, what sort of chariots could be driven in Scotland 
any where but on turnpike roads, has been to me al- 
ways matter of amazement. And well now — has the 
muse visited you ? — Have you got anything to show me ?’ 

“ M}^ time,” said Lovel, with a glance at his blach 
dress, “ has been less pleasantly employed.” ^ 

“ The death of a friend said the Antiquary. 


THE ANTIQ,UAUY. 


165 

“ Yes, Mr. Oldbuck ; of almost the only friend I could 
ever boast of possessing.” 

“ Indeed } well, young man,” replied his visiter, in a tone 
of seriousness very different from his affected gravity, be 
comforted — to have lost a friend by death while your mutu- 
al regard was warm and unchilled, while the tear can drop 
unembittered by any painful recollection of coldness or dis- 
trust or treachery, is perhaps an escape from a more heavy 
dispensation. Look round you — how few do you see grow 
old in the affections of those with whom their early friend- 
ships were formed ! our sources of common pleasure 
gradually dry up as we journey on through the vale of 
Bacha, and we hew out to ourselves other reservoirs from 
which the first companions of our pilgrimage are excluded 
— ^jealousies, rivalries, envy, intervene to separate others 
from our side, until none remain but those who are con- 
nected with us, rather by habit than predilection, or who, 
allied more in blood than in disposition, only keep the old 
man company in his life, that they may not be forgotten 
at his death — 


Ilcec data poena diu viverdihus — 

Ah ! Mr. Lovel, if it be your lot to reach the chill, cloudy, 
and comfortless evening of life, you will remember the 
sorrows of your youth as the light shadowy clouds that 
intercepted for a moment the beams of the sun when it 
was rising. But I cram these words into your ears 
against the stomach of your sense.” 

“ 1 am sensible of your kindness,” answered the youth, 
“ but the wound that is of recent infliction must always 
smart severely, and I should be little comforted under my 
present calamity — forgive me for saying so — by the con 
viction that life had nothing in reserve for me but a train 
of successive sorrows. And permit me to add, you, Mr 
Oldbuck, have least reason -of many men to take so gloomy 
a view of life — you have a competent and easy fortune — 
di-e generally respected— nay, in your own phrase, vacare 
musis, indulge yourself in the researches to which your 
taste addicts you — ^^"ou may form your own society with- 


166 


THE ANTiq,UAllY. 


out doors, and within you have the affectionate and 
sedulous attention of the nearest relatives.” 

“Why, yes; the womankind — for womankind — are. 
thanks to my training, very civil and tractable — do not 
disturb me in my morning studies — creep across tlTe floor 
with the stealthy pace of a cat, when it suits me to take a 
nap in my easy- chair after dinner or tea. All this is very 
well — but I want something to exchange ideas with— 
something to talk to.” 

“ Then why do you not invite your nephew. Captain 
M’Intyre, who is mentioned by every one as a fine spirit- 
ed young fellow, to become a member of your family 

“ Who ?” exclaimed Monkbarns, “ my nephew Hector? 
— the Hotspur of the North } — Why, Heaven love you, I 
would as soon invite a firebrand into my stackyard — he’s an 
Almanzor, a Chamont — has a Highland pedigree as long as 
his claymore, and a claymore as long as the High-street of 
Fairport, which he unsheathed upon the surgeon the last 
time he was at Fairport — I expect him here one of these 
days, but I will keep him at staff’s end, I promise you — He 
an inmate of my house ! to make my very chairs and 
tables tremble at his brawls — No, no. I’ll none of Hector 
M’Intyre. But hark ye, Lovel, you are a quiet, gentle- 
tempered lad ; had not you better set up your staff at 
Monkbarns for a month or two, since I conclude you do 
not immediately intend to leave this country 9 — I will 
have a door opened out to the garden — it will cost but a 
trifle — there is the space for an old one which -was con- 
demned long ago — by which said door you may pass and 
repass into the Green Chamber at pleasure, so you will 
not interfere with the old man, nor he with you. As for 
your fare, Mrs. Hadoway tells me you are, as she terms 
it, very moderate of your mouth, so you will not quarrel 
with my humble table. Your washing” 

“ Hold, my dear Mr. Oldbuck,” interposed Lovel, 
unable to repress a smile ; “ and before your hospitality 
settles all my accommodations, let me thank you most 
sincerely for so kind an offer — it is - present in my 
power to accept of it ; but very likeiv, before I bid adieu 


THE ANTiqUAIlT. 


167 


to Scotland,! shall find an opportunity to pay you a visit 
of some lengili.” 

Mr. Oldbuck’s countenance fell. “ Why, I thought 1 
had hit on the very arrangement that would suit us both, 
and who knows what might happen in the long run, and 
whether we might ever part 9 — Why, I am master ol 
my acres, man — there is the advantage of being descend- 
ed from a man of more sense than pride — they cannot 
oblige me to transmit my goods, chattels, and heritages, 
any way but as I please. No string of substitute heirs of 
entail, as empty and unsubstantial as the morsels of paper 
strung to the train of a boy’s kite, to cumber my flights 
of inclination, and my humours of predilection. Well, — 
I see you won’t be tempted at present — But Caledonia 
goes on, 1 hope 

“ O, certainly !” said Lovel, “ 1 cannot think of relin- 
quishing a plan so hopeful.” 

“ It is indeed,” said the Antiquary, looking gravely up- 
ward, — for, though shrewd and acute enough hi estimating 
the variety of plans formed by others, he had a very nat- 
ural, though rather disproportioned, good opinion of the 
importance of those which originated with himself — “ It 
is indeed one of those undertakings which, if achieved 
with spirit equal to that which dictates its conception, 
may redeem from the charge of frivolity the literature 
of the present generation.” 

Here he was interrupted by a knock at the room-door, 
wdiich introduced a letter for Mr. Lovel. The servant 
waited, Mrs. Hadoway said, for an answer. “ You are 
concerned in this matter, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Lovel, 
after glancing over the billet ; and handed it to the Anti- 
quary as he spoke. 

It was a letter from Sir Arthur Wardour, couched in 
extremely civil language, regretting that a fit of the gout 
had prevented his hitherto showing Mr. Lovel the atten- 
tions to which his conduct during the late perilous occa- 
sion had so well entitled him — apologizing for not paying 
his respects in person, but hoping ]Mr. Lovel would dis- 
pense with that ceremony, and be a member of a smal! 


168 


THE ANTIQ,UA11T. 


party which proposed to visit tlie ruins of St. Ruth’s pri- 
ory on the following day, and aflerwards to dine and 
spend the evening at Knockwinnock castle. Sir Arthur 
concluded with saying, that he had sent to request the 
IVionkbarns family to join the party of j)leasure which he 
thus proposed. The j)lace of , rendezvous was fixed at a 
turnpike-gate, which was about an equal distance from all 
the points from which the company were to assemble. 

‘‘ What shall we do T’ said Lovel, looking at the An- 
tiquary, but pretty certain of the part he would take. 

“ Go, man — we’ll go, by all means. Let me see — it 
will cost a post-chaise though, which will hold you and 
me, and Mary M’Intyre, very well, and the other wo- 
mankind may go to the manse, and you can come out 
in the chaise to Monkbarns, as I will take it for the day.” 

‘‘ Why, 1 rather think I had better ride.” 

True, true, I forgot your Bucephalus. You are a 
foolish lad, by the by, for purchasing the brute outright ; 
you should stick to eighteenpence a side, if you will trust 
any creature’s legs in preference to your own.” 

“ Why, as the horses have the advantage of moving 
considerably faster, and are, besides, tw’o pair to one, 1 
own I incline” 

“ Enough said — enough said — do as you please. Well, 
then, ril bring either Grizel or the minister, for I love tc 
have my full pennyworth out of post-horses — and we 
meet at Tirlingen turnpike on Friday, at twelve o’clock 
precisely.” And with this agreement the friends sep- 
arated. 


THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


169 


CHAPTER XVTI. 


*• Of seats they tell, where priests, ’mid tapers <hin, 
l^reathed the warm prayer or tuned the midnighi hynm ; 

'i'o scenes like these tlie fainting s<iul retired, 

Revenge and Anger in these cells exjiiied : 

Ry Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears. 

And soften’d Pride dropped penitential tears.” 

Crahbes Borough. 

The morning of Friday was as serene and beantiful 
as if no pleasure party had been iniended ; and that is 
a rare event, vvhetlier in novel-writing or real life. Ivovel, 
who felt the genial influence of the weather, and rejoiced 
at the prospect of once more meeting with Miss Wardour, 
trotted forward to the place of rendezvous with better 
spirits than he had for some time enjoyed. His pros- 
pects seemed in many resj)ects to oj)en and ..righten be- 
fore him, and hope, although breaking like the ir'»rning 
sun through clouds and showers, appeared now about 
to dluminate the path before him. He was, as might h;'"e 
been expected from this state of s])irits, first at the place 
of meeting, and, as might also have been anticipated, 
his looks were so intently directed towards the road from 
Knockwinnock castle, that he was only apprized of the 
arrival of the Monkbarns division by the gee-hupping of 
the postilion, as the j)ost-chaise lumbered up behind him. 
In this vehicle were pent up, first, the stately figure of Mr. 
Oldbuck himself ; secondly, the scarce less portly person 
of the reverend Mr. Blattergowl, minister of Trotcosey, 
the parish in which Monkbarns and Knockwinnock were 
both situated. The reverend gentleman was equipped 
in a buzz wig, upon the top of which was an equilateral 
cocked hat. * This was the paragon of the three yet re- 
maining wigs of the parish, which differed, as Monkbarns 

VOL. I. 


170 


THE ANTl^UART. 


used to remark, like the three degrees of comparison— 
Sir Arthur’s ramilies being the positive, his own bob-wig 
the comparative, and the overwhelming grizzle of the 
worthy clergyman figuring as the superlative. The su- 
p(.‘rintendant of these antique garnitures, deeming, or af- 
fecting to deem, that he could not well be absent on an 
occasion which assembled all three together, had seated 
himself on the board behind the carriage, “ just to be 
in the way in case they wanted a touch before the gen- 
llemen sat down to dinner.” Between the two massive 
figures of Monkbarns and the clergyman was stuck, by 
way of bodkin, the slim form of Mary M’lntyre, her aunt 
having preferred a visit to the manse, and a social chat 
with Miss Beckie Blattergowl, to investigating the ruins of 
the priory of Saint Ruth. 

As greetings passed between the members of the 
Monkbarns party and Mr. Lovel, the baronet’s carriage, 
an open barouche, swept onward to the place of appoint- 
ment, making, with its smoking bays, smart drivers, arms, 
olazoned pannels, and a brace of out-riders, a strong 
contrast with the battered vehicle and broken-winded 
hacks which had brought thither the Antiquary and his 
followers. The principal seat of the carriage was occu- 
pied by Sir Arthur and his daughter. At the first glance 
which passed betwixt Miss Wardour and Lovel, her colour 
rose considerably ; but she had apparently made up her 
mind to receive him as a friend, and only as such, and 
there was equal composure and courtesy in the mode of 
her reply to his fluttered salutation. Sir Arthur halted 
the barouche to shake his preserver kindly by the hand, 
and intimate the pleasure he had on this opportunity of 
returning him his personal thanks ; then mentioned to 
him, in a tone of slight introduction, “ JMr. Dousterswivel, 
Mr. Lovel.” 

liovel took the necessary notice of the German adept, 
who occupied the front seat of the carriage, which is usu- 
ally conferred upon dependants or inferiors. The ready 
grin and supple inclination with which his salutation, 
though slight, was answered by the foreigner, increased 


THE ANTK^UART. 


171 


the internal dislike which Level had already conceived 
towards him ; and it was plain, from the lour of the An- 
tiquary’s shaggy eye-brow, that he too looked with dis- 
pleasure on tills addition to the company. Little more 
than distant greeting passed among the members of the 
party, until, having roUed on for about three miles beyond 
the place at which they met, the carriages at length 
stopped at the sign of the Four Horse-shoes, a small 
hedge inn, where Caxon humbly opened the door, and 
let down the step of the hack-chaise, while the inmates of 
the barouche were, by their more courtly attendants, 
assisted to leave their equipage. 

Here renewed greetings passed ; the young ladies shook 
hands ; and Oldbiick, completely in his element, placed 
himself as guide and Cicerone at the head of the party, 
who were now to advance on foot towards the object 
of their curiosity. He took care to detain Lovel close 
beside him as the best listener of the party, and occasion- 
ally glanced a word of explanation and instruction to Miss 
Wardour and Mary M’Intyre, who followed next in order. 
The baronet and the clergyman he ratlier avoided, as 
he was aware both of them conceived they understood 
such matters as well, or better, than he did ; and Dous- 
terswivel, besides that he looked on him as a charlatan, 
was so nearly connected with his apprehended loss in 
the stock of the mining company, that he could not abide 
the sight of him. These two latter satellites, therefore, 
attended upon the orb of Sir Arthur, to whom, moreover, 
as the most important person of the society, they were 
naturally induced to attach themselves. 

It frequently happens that the most beautiful points oi 
Scottish scenery lie hidden in some sequestered dell, and 
that you may travel through the country in every direction 
without being aware of your vicinity to what is well worth 
seeing, unless intention or accident carry you to the very 
spot. This is particularly the case in the country around 
Fairport, which is, generally speaking, open, unenclosed, 
and bare. But here and there the progress of rills, or 
small rivers, has formed dells, glens, or, as they are pro- 


172 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


vincially termed, dens^ on whose high and rooky banks 
trees and shrubs of all kinds find a shelter, and grow with a 
luxuriant profusion, which is the more gratifying, as it forms 
an unexpected contrast with the general face of the 
country. This was eminently the case with the approach 
to the ruins of St. Ruth, which was for some time merely 
a sheep-track, along the side of a steep and bare hill. 
By degrees, however, as this path descended, and winded 
round the hill-side, trees began to appear, at first singly, 
stunted and blighted, with locks of wool upon their trunks, 
and their roots hollowed out into recesses, in which the 
sheep love to repose themselves, — a sight much more 
gratifying to the eye of an admirer of the picturesque 
than to that of a planter or forester. By and by the 
trees formed groups, fringed on the edges, and filled up 
in the middle, by thorns and hazel bushes ; and at length 
these groups closed so much together, that, although a 
broad glade opened here and there under their boughs, or 
a small patch ^f bog or heath occurred which had refused 
nourishment to the seed which they sprinkled round, and 
consequently' remained open and waste, the scene might 
on the whole be termed decidedly woodland. The sides 
of the valley began to approach each other more closely ; 
the rush of a brook was heard below, and, between the 
intervals afforded by openings in the natural wood, its 
waters were -seen hurling clear and rapid under their 
sylvan canopy. 

Oldbuck now took upon himself the full authority of 
Cicerone, and anxiously directed the company not to go 
a foot-breadth off the track which he pointed out to them 
if they wished to enjoy in full perfection what they came 
to see. “ You are happy in me for a guide. Miss War- 
dour,” exclaimed the veteran, waving his hand and head 
in cadence as he repeated with emphasis, 

' I know each lane, and every alley green, 

Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, 

And every bosky bower from side to side.' 


—Ah ! deuce take it ! — that spray of a bramble has de* 


THE ANTK^UART. 


173 


molished all Caxon’s labours, and nearly canted my wig 
into the stream — so much for recitations, hors de propos.''^ 
“ Never mind, my dear sir,” said Miss Wardour, “ you 
have your faithful attendant ready to repair such a dis- 
aster when it happens, and when you appear with it as 
restored to its original splendour, 1 will carry on the quo- 
tation : 

" So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed. 

And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore 
Flames on the forehead’' 


‘‘ O enough, enough !” answered Oldbuck ; “ I ought 
to have known what it was to give you advantage over me 
— But here is what will stop your career of satire, for 
you are an admirer of nature I know.” In fact, when 
they had followed him through a breach in a low, ancient, 
and ruinous wall, they came suddenly upon a scene 
equally unexpected and interesting. 

They stood pretty high upon the side of the glen, which 
nad suddenly opened into a sort of aifiphitheatre to give 
room for a pure and profound lake of a few acres extent, 
and a space of level ground around it. The banks then 
arose every where steeply, and in some places were varied 
oy rocks — in others covered with the copse which run up, 
feathering their sides lightly and irregularly, and breaking 
the uniformity of the green pasture-ground. Beneath, tlie 
lake discharged itself into the huddling and tumultuous 
brook, which had been their companion since they had 
entered the glen. At the point at which it issued from 
its “ parent lake” stood the ruins which they had come 
to visit. They were not of great extent ; but the singu- 
lar beauty, as well as wild and sequestered character of 
the spot on which they were situated, gave them an in- 
terest and importance superior to that which attaches itself 
to architectural remains of greater consequence, but plac- 
ed near to ordinary houses, and possessing less romantic 
accompaniments. The eastern window of the clmrch 

VOL. I. 


174 


THE ANTiqUAllY. 


remained entire, with all its ornaments and tracery worK 
and the sides upheld by flying buttresses, whose ain 
support, detached from the wall against which they wervi 
placed, and ornamented with pinnacles and carved work 
gave a variety and lightness to the building. The roo'i 
and western end of the church were completely ruinous 
but the latter appeared to have made ofie side of a square, 
of which the ruins of the conventual buildings formed 
other two, and the gardens a fourth. The side of these 
buildings, which overhung the brook, was partly founded 
on a steep and precipitous rock ; for the place had been 
occasionally turned to military purposes, and had been 
taken with great slaughter, during Montrose’s wars. The 
ground formerly occupied by the garden was still marked 
by a few orchard trees. At a greater distance from the 
buildings were detached oaks, and elms, and chesnuts, 
growing singly, which had attained great size. The rest 
of the space between the ruins and the hill was a close- 
cropt sward, which the daily pasture of the sheep kept in 
much finer order .than if it had been subjected to the 
scythe and broom. The whole scene had a repose, which 
was still and affecting without being monotonous. The 
dark, deep basin, in which the clear blue lake reposed, 
reflecting the water-lilies which grew on its surface, and 
the trees which here and there threw their arms from 
the banks, was finely contrasted with the haste and lu- 
mult of the brook which broke away from the outlet, as 
if escaping from confinement, and hurried down the glen, 
wheeling around the base of the rock on which the ruins 
were situated, and brawling in foam and fury with every 
shelve and stone which obstructed its passage. A similar 
contrast was seen between the level green meadow, in 
which the ruins were situated, and the large timber-trees 
which were scattered over it, compared with the precipi- 
tous banks which arose at a short distance around, partly 
fringed with light and feathery underwood, partly rising in 
steeps clothed with purple heath, and partly more abrupt- 
ly elevated into fronts of grey rock, chequered with iich- 


THE ANTIQ^UART. 


175 


ea, and with those liardy plants which find root ev^en in 
the most arid crevices of the crags. 

“ Tiiere was the retreat of learning in the days oi 
darkness, Mr. Lovel,” said Oldbuck, around whom tlie 
company had now grouped themselves, while they admir- 
ed the unexpected opening of a prospect so romantic ; 

there reposed the sages who were aweary of the world, 
and devoted either to that which was to come, or to the 
service of the generations who should follow them in 
this. I will show you presently the library — see that 
stretch of wall with square-shafted windows — there it 
existed, stored, as an old manuscript in my possession 
assures me, with five thousand volumes — And here I 
might well take up the lamentation of the learned Leland, 
who, regretting the downfall of the conventual libraries, 
exclaims, like Rachel weeping for her children, that if 
the papal laws, decrees, decretals, clementines, and other 
such drugs of the devil, yea, if Heytesburg’s sophisms, 
Porphyry’s universals, Aristotle’s logic, and Dunse’s 
divinity, with such other lousy legerdemains, (begging 
your pardon, Miss Wardour,) and fruits of the bottomless 
pit, had leapt out of our libraries, for the accommodation 
of grocers, candle-makers, soap-sellers, and other worldly 
occupiers, we might have been therewith contented. But 
to put our ancient chronicles, our noble histories, out 
learned commentaries, and national muniments, to such 
offices of contempt and subjection, has greatly degraded 
our nation, and showed ourselves dishonoured in the eyes 
of posterity to the utmost stretch of time — O negligence, 
most unfriendly to our land !” 

“ And, O John Knox,” said the baronet, “ through 
whose influence, and under whose auspices, the patriotic 
task was accomplished !” 

The Antiquary, somewhat in the situation of a wood- 
cock caught in his own springe, turned short round and 
coughed, to excuse a slight blush as he mustered his 
answer — As to the Apostle of Scottish Reformation” — 


176 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIT. 


But Miss Wardour broke in to interrupt a conversation 
so dangerous. “ Bray, who was the autlior you quoted, 
Mr. 01dbiKrk9” 

“ The learned Leland, Miss Wardour, who lost his 
senses on witnessing the destruction of the conventual li- 
braries in England.” 

“ Now 1 tlnnk,” replied the young lady, “ his misfortune 
may have saved the rationality of some modern antiquaries, 
which would certainly have been drowned if so vast a 
lake of learning had not been diminished by draining.” 

“ Well, thank Heaven, there is no danger now— they 
have hardly left us a spoonful in which to perform the 
dire feat.” 

So saying, Mr. Oldbuck led the way down the bank, by 
a sleep but secure path, which soon placed them on the ver- 
dant meadow where the ruins stood. “ There they lived,” 
continued the Antiquary, “ with nought to do but to spend 
their time in investigating points of remote antiquity, 
transcribing manuscripts, and composing new works for 
the information of posterity.” 

“ And,” added the baronet, “ in exercising the rites 
of devotion with a ponq^ and ceremonial worthy of the 
office of the priesthood.” 

“ And if Sir Arthur’s excellence will permit,” said 
the German, with a low bow, “ the monksh might also 
make de vary curious experiment in deir laboraties, both 
in chemistry and magia naiuralis.’^ 

“ I think,” said tlie clergyman, “ they would have 
enough to do in collecting the teinds of the parsonage and 
vicarage of three good parishes.” 

“ And all,” added Miss Wardour, nodding to the An 
tiquary, “ without interruption from womankind.” 

“ True, my fair foe,” said Oldbuck ; “ this was a 
paradise where no Eve was admitted, and we may won- 
der the rather by what chance the good fathers came to 
lose it.” 

With such criticisms on the occupations of those by 
whom the ruins had been formerly possessed, they w’an- 
dered for some time from one moss-grown shrine to 
another, under the guidance of Oldbuck, who explained, 


the ANTKtTJAUr. 


177 


with much plausibility, the ground-plan of the edifice, and 
read and expounded to the company the various moulder- 
ing inscriptions which yet were to be traced upon the 
tombs of the dead, or under the vacant niches of the saint- 
ed images. “ What is the reason,” at length Miss War- 
dour asked the Antiquary, “ why tradition has preserved 
to us such meagre accounts of the inmates of these stately 
edifices, raised with such expense of labour and taste, 
and whose owners were in their times personages of such 
awful powei and importance *? The meanest tower of a 
freebooting jaron, or squire, who lived by his lance and 
broad-sword, is consecrated by its appropriate legend, 
and the shepherd will tell you with accuracy the names 
and feats of its inhabitants ; but ask a countryman con- 
cerning these beautiful and extensive remains — these tow- 
ers, these arches, and buttresses, and shafted wdndows, 
reared at such cost, three words fill up his answer — ‘ they 
were made by the monks lang syne.’ ” 

The question was somewhat puzzling — Sir Arthur look- 
ed upward as if hoping to be inspired with an answer — 
Oldbuck shoved back his wig — the clergyman was of 
opinion that his parishioners were too deeply impressed 
with the true presbyterian doctrine to preserve any records 
concerning the papistical cumberers of the land, offshoots 
as they were of the great overshadowing tree of iniquity, 
whose roots are in the bowels of the seven hills of abomi- 
nation — Lovel thought the question was best resolved by 
considering what are the events which leave the deep- 
est impression on the minds of the common people — 
“ These,” he contended, ‘‘ were not such as resemble 
the gradual progress of a fertilizing river, but the head- 
long and precipitous fury of some portentous flood. The 
eras, by which the vulgar compute time, have always 
reference to some period of fear and tribulation, and they 
date by a tempest, an earthquake, or burst of civil com- 
motion. When such are the facts most alive in the mem- 
ory of the common people, we cannot wonder,” he con 
eluded, “ that the ferocious warrior is remembered, and 


178 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


tlip peaceful abbots are abandoned to forgetfulness and 
oblivion.” 

“ If you pleashe, gentlemans and ladies, and ashking 
pardon of Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour, and this wor- 
thy clergymansh, and my goot friend Mr. Oldenbuck, 
who is my countrymansh and of goot young Mr. Loftl 
also, I think it is all owing to de hand of glory.” 

“ The hand of whalT’ exclaimed Oldbuck. 

‘‘ Dc hand of glory, my goot Master Oldenbuck, which 
is a vary great and terrible secrets — which de monksh 
used to conceal their treasures when they were triven from 
their cloisters by what you call de Reform.” 

“ Ay, indeed ! tell us about that,” said Oldbuck, “ for 
these are secrets worth knowing.” 

“ Why, my goot Master Oldenbuck, you will only laugh 
at me — But de hand of glory is vary well known in de 
countries where your worthy progenitors did live — and it 
is hand cut off from a dead man, as has been hanged for 
murther, and dried very nice in de shmoke of juniper 
wood, and if you put a little of what you call yew wid 
your juniper, it will not be any better — that is, it will not 
be no worse — then you do take something of de fatsh of 
de bear, and of de badger, and of de great eber, as you 
call de grand boar, and of de little sucking child as has 
not been christened, (for dat is very essentials,) and you 
do make a candle, and put it imo de hand of glory at dc 
proper hour and minute, with le proper ceremonish, and 
he who seeksh for treasuresh shall never find none at all.” 

“ I dare take my corporal oath of that conclusion,” 
said the Antiquary. “ And was it the custom, ^Ir. 
Doasterswivel, in Westphalia, to make use of this elegant 
candelabrum 9” 

Alwaysh, Mr. Oldenbuck, when you did not want no- 
body to talk of nothing you wash doing about — And de 
monksh always did this when they did hide their church- 
plates, and their great chalices, and de rings, wid ver} 
preshioiis shtones and jewels.” 

“ But, notwithstanding, you knights of the Rosy Cross 
have means, no doubt of breaking the spell, and discov- 


THE ANTIQ,UATIY. 


179 


ering what the poor monks have put themselves to so much 
trouble to conceal 9” 

“ Ah ! goot ]\Ir. Oldenbuck,” replied the. adept, shak- 
ing his head mysteriously, “ you was vary hard to believe, 
but if you had seen de great huge pieces of de j)late so 
massive. Sir Arthur — so fine fashion. Miss Wardonr — and 
de silver cross dat we did find (dat was Schroepfer and 
my ownself) for de Herr FreygrafF, as you call de Baron 
Von Blunderhaus, I do believe you would have believed 
then.” 

“ Seeing is believing indeed — But what was your art 
—what was your mystery, Mr. Dousterswivel 9” 

“ Aha, Mr. Oldejibuck, dat is my little secret, mine 
goot sir — you sail forgife me that I not tell that — But 1 
will tell you dere are various ways — yes, indeed, dere is 
de dream dat you dream tree times, dat is a vary goot 
way.” 

“ I am glad of that,” said Oldbuck ; “ I have a friend 
(with a side-glance to Lovel) who is peculiarly favoured 
by the visits of Queen Mab.” 

“ Den dere is de symj)alhies, and de antipathies, and de 
strange pro})erties and virtues natural of divers herb, and 
of de little divining rod.” 

“ I would gladly rather see some of these wonders 
thad hear of them,” said Miss Wardonr. 

“ Ah, but, my much-honoured young lady, this is not 
de time or de way to do de great wonder of fijiding all 
de church’s plate and treasure ; but to oblige you, and 
Sir Arthur my patron, and de reverend clergymans, and 
goot Mr. Oldenbuck, and young Mr. Lofel, who is a very 
good young gentleman also, I will show you dat it is pos- 
sible, a vary possible, to discover de spring of water, and 
de little fountain hidden in de ground, without any mat- 
tock, or spade, or dig at all.” 

“ Umph !” quoth the Antiquary, “ I have heard of 
that conundrum. That will be no very ])rodi'Ctive art 
in our country — you should carry that property to Sj)ain 
or Portugal, and turn it to good account.” 


180 


THE ANTIQ^UART. 


“ Ah, iny goot Master Oldenbiick, dere is de Iriquis 
tioi), and de Auto-da-fe — they would burn me, who am 
but a simple pliilosopher, for one great conjure-. ” 

“ They would cast away their coals then,” said Old- 
buck ; “ but,” continued he in a whisper to Lovel, 

w^ere they to pillory him for one of the most impudeni 
rascals that ever wagged a tongue, they would square the 
punishment more accurately with his deserts, lint let us 
see — I think he is about to show us some of his leger- 
demain.” 

In truth, the German w^as now got to a little copse- 
thicket at some distance from the ruins, where he affected 
busily to search for such a wand as should suit the pur- 
pose of his mystery ; and after cutting, and examining, 
and rejecting several, he at length provided himself with 
a small twig of hazel terminating in a forked end, which 
he pronounced to possess the virtue proper for the ex- 
periment that he w^as about to exhibit. Holding the 
forked ends of the wand each between a finger and thumb, 
and thus keeping the rod upright, he proceeded to pace 
the ruined aisles and cloisters, followed by the rest of the 
company in admiring procession. “ I believe dere w^as 
no waters here,” said the adept, when he had made the 
round of several of the buildings, without perceiving an) 
of those indications which he pretended to expect— 1 
believe those Scotch monksh did find de water too cool 
for de climate, and alwaysh drank de goot comfortable 
Rhine wine — but, aha ! — see there.” Accordingly, the 
assistants observed the rod to turn in his fingers, although 
he pretended to hold it very tight. “ Dere is water 
hereabout, sure enough,” — and, turning this way and that 
way, as the agitation of the divdning rod seemed to in- 
crease or diminish, he at length advanced into the midst 
of a vacant and roofless inclosure, which had been the 
kitchen of the priory, when the rod twisted itself so as 
to point almost straight downwards. “ Here is de place,’ 
said the adept, “ and if you do not find de water here, 
I will give you all leave to call me an impudent knave 


THE A.NTK^UARY. 


181 


^ I shall take that license,” whispered the Antiquary to 
Level, “ whether the water is discovered or no.” 

A servant, who had come up with a basket of cold 
refreshments, was now despatched to a neighbouring for- 
ester’s hut for a mattock and pick-axe. The loose stones 
and rubbish being removed from the spot indicated by 
the German, they soon came to the sides of a regularly 
built well ; and, when a few feet of rubbish were cleared 
out by the assistance of the forester and his sons, the 
water began to rise j-apidly, to the delight of the philos- 
opher, the astonishment of the ladies, Mr. Blattergowl, 
and Sir Arthur, the surprise of Lovel, and the confusion 
of the incredulous Antiquary. He did not fail, however, 
to enter his protest in Level’s ear against the miracle. 

This is a mere trick,” he said ; “ the rascal had made 
himself sure of the existence of this old well, by some 
means or other, before he played off this mystical piece 
of jugglery. Mark what he talks of next. 1 am much 
mistaken if this is not intended as a prelude to some more 
serious fraud ; see how the rascal assumes consequence, 
and plumes himself upon the credit of his success, and 
how poor Sir Arthur takes in the tide of nonsense which 
he is delivering to him as principles of occult science !” 

You do see, my goot patron, you do see, my goot la- 
dies, you do see, w’orthy Dr. Bladderhowl, and even 
Mr. Lofel and Mr. Oldenbuck may see, if they do will to 
see, how art has no enemy at all but ignorance. Look at 
this little slip of hazel nuts — it is fit for nothing at all but 
to whip de little child,” — (“ I w’ould choose a cat and 
nine tails for your occasions,” whispered Oldbuck apart,) 
— “ and you put it in the hands of a philosopher — paf • 
it makes de grand discovery. But this is nothing. Sir Ar- 
ihiir — nothing at all, worthy Dr. Botherhowl — nothing at 
all, ladies — nothing at all, young Mr. Lofel and good Mr. 
Oldonbuck, to what art can do. Ah ! if dere was any 
man that had- de spirit and de courage, I w’ould show him 
better things than the well of w’aler — 1 would show him”— 
9 VOL. I. 


183 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ And a little money would be necessary also, would it 
not 9” said the Antiquary. 

“ Bah 1 one trifle, not worth talking about, might be 
necessaries,” answered the ade[)t. 

“ I thought as much,” rejoined tlie Antiquary dryly : 
“ and I, in the meanwhile, without any divining ro»l, will 
show you an excellent venison pasty, and a bottle of ! jon- 
don particular Madeira, and I think that will match all that 
Mr. Dousterswivel’s art is like to exhibit.” 

The feast was spread /rowc/e swper viridi, as Oldbuck 
expressed himself, under a huge old tree, called the 
Prior’s Oak, and the company, sitting down around it, 
did ample honour to the contents of the basket. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


As when a Gryphon tlirongh llie wihlemesS;. 

With winded course, o’er hill at)d nioory dale. 
Pursues the Ariinaspian, \N ho by stealth 
Had from his wakeful custody purloin'd 

Tlie guarded gold ; So eagerly the Fiend 

Paradise Lsst. 


When their collation was ended. Sir Arthur resumed 
the account of the mysteries of the divining rod, as a sub- 
ject on which he had formerly conversed with Doustcr- 
swivel. “ My friend Mr. Oldbuck will now be 
prepared, Mr. Dousterswivel, to listen with more res]>ect 
;.o the stories you have told us of the late discoveries in 
Germany by the brethren of your association.” 

Ah, Sir Arthur, that was not a thing to speak to thost 
gentlemans, because it is want of credulity — what you 
call faith — that spoils the great enterprize.” 

“ At least, however, let my daughter read the narra 
live she has taken down of the story of Martin VV aldeca.” 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


183 


All, that was very true story — but ]\Iiss Wardour, 
she is so sly and so witty, that she has made it just like 
one romance — as well as Goethe or VVieland could have 
done it, by mine honest w'ort.” 

“ To say the truth, Mr. Dousterswivel,” answered Miss 
Wardour, “ the romantic predominated in the legend so 
much above the probable, that it was impossible for a 
lover of fairy-land like me to avoid lending a few touches 
to make it perfect in its kind — But here it is, and if you do 
not incline to leave this shade till the heat of the day has 
somewhat declined, and will have sympathy with my bad 
composition, perhaps Sir Arthur or Mr. Oldbuck will 
read it to us.” 

“ Not I,” said Sir Arthur ; ‘‘ I was never fond of 
reading aloud.” 

“ Nor I,” said Oldbuck, “ for I have forgot my spec- 
tacles — but here is Lovel, with sharp eyes, and a good 
voice ; for Mr. Blattergowl, ! know, never reads anything, 
lest he should be suspected of reading his sermons.” 

The task was therefore imposed upon Lovel, who re- 
ceived, with some trepidation, as Miss Wardour delivered 
with a little embarrassment, a paper containing the lines 
traced by that fair hand, the possession of which he cov- 
eted as the highest blessing the earth could olfer to him. 
But there was a necessity of sup})ressing his emotions ; 
and, after glancing over the manuscript, as if to become 
acquainted with the character, he collected himself, and 
read the company the following tale. 

The Fortunes of Martin Waldeck.^ 

The solitudes of the Harz forest in Germany, but es- 
pecially the mountains called Blockberg, or rather Brock- 
cnberg, are the chosen scene for tales of witches, diemons, 
and ajiparitions. The occupation of the inhabitants, who 
are either miners or foresters, is of a kind that render;: 
them peculiarly prone to superstition, and the natural 
phenomena which they witness in pursuit of their solitary 
or subterraneous profession, are often set down by their: 


184 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


to the interference of goblins or the power of magic. 
Among the various legends current in that wild countr}', 
tlicre is a favourite one, which supposes the Harz to be 
haunted by a sort of tutelar dEemon, in the shape of a wild 
man, of huge stature, his head wreathed with oak leaves, 
and his middle cinctured with the same, bearing in his hand 
a pine torn up by tlie roots. It is certain that many per- 
sons profess to have seen such a form traversing, with 
huge strides, in a line parallel to their own course, the 
opposite ridge of a mountain, when divided from it by a 
narrow glen ; and indeed the fact of the apparition is so 
generally admitted, that modern scepticism has only found 
refuge by ascribing it to optical deception.^ 

In elder times, the intercourse of the djemon with the 
inhabitants was more familiar, and, according to the tra- 
ditions of the Harz, he was wont, with the caprice usually 
ascribed to these earth-born powers, to interfere with the 
affairs of mortals, sometimes for their weal, sometimes for 
their woe. But it was observed, that even his gifts often 
turned out, in the long run, fatal to those on whom they 
were bestowed, and it was no uncommon thing for the 
pastors in their care of their flocks, to compose long ser- 
mons, the burthen whereof was a warning against having 
any intercourse, director indirect, with the Harz daemon. 
Tlie fortunes of Martin Waldeck have been often quoted 
by the aged to their giddy children, when they were heard 
to scoff at a danger which appeared visionary. 

A travelling capuchin had possessed himself of the 
pulpit of the thatched church at a little hamlet called 
Morgenbrodt^ lying in the Harz district, from which he 
declaimed against the wickedness of the inhabitants, their 
communication with fiends, witches, and fairies, and, in 
particular, with the woodland goblin of the Harz. The 
doctrines of Luther had already begun to spread among 
the peasantry, for the incident is placed under the reign 
of Charles V. and they laughed to scorn the zeal with 
which the venerable man insisted upon his topic. At 
length, as his vehemence increased with opposition, so 
their opposition rose in proportion to his vehemence. 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


185 


The inhabitants did not like to hear an accustomed quiet 
da'inon, who had inhabited the Brockenberg Tor so many 
ages summarily confounded with Baal-peor, Ashtaroth, 
and Beelzebub himself, and condemned without reprieve 
to the bottomless Tophet. The apprehensions that the 
spirit might avenge himself on tl^em for listening to such 
an illiberal sentence, added to their national interest in 
his behalf. A travelling friar, they said, that is here to- 
day and away to-morrow, may say what he pleases ; but 
it is we, the ancient and constant inhabitants of the coun- 
try, that are left at the mercy of the insulted daemon, 
and must, of course, pay for all. Under the irritation 
occasioned by tliese reflections, the peasants from injuri- 
ous language betook themselves to stones, and having peb- 
bled the priest pretty handsomely, they drove him out of 
the parish to preach against daemons elsewhere. 

Three young men, who had been present and assist- 
ing on this occasion, were upon their return to the hut, 
where they carried on the laborious and mean occupation 
of preparing charcoal for the smelting furnaces. On the 
way, their conversation naturally turned upon the daemon 
of the Harz and the doctrine of the capuchin. Max and 
George Waldeck, the two elder brothers, although they 
allowed the language of the capuchin to have been indis- 
creet and worthy of censure, as presuming to determine 
upon the precise character and abode of the spirit, yet 
contended it was dangerous, in the highest degree, to 
accept of his gifts, or hold any communication with him. 
He was powerful, they allowed, but wayward and capri- 
cious, and those who had intercourse with him seldom 
came to a good end. Did he not give the brave knight, 
Ecbert of Rabenwald, that famous black steed, by means 
of which he vanquished all the champions at the great 
tournament at Bremen and did not the same steed after 
ward precipitate itself with its rider into an abyss so steep 
and fearful, that neither horse nor man were ever seen 
more Had he not given to Dame Gertrude Trodden 
a curious spell for making butter come 9 and was she not 

VOL. I. 


186 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


burnt for a witch by the grand criminal judge of the 
Electorate, because she availed herself of liis gift 9 Ihn 
these, and many other instances which they quoted, ol 
mischance and ill-luck ultimately attending on the aji- 
parent bjenefits conferred by the Harz spirit, failed to make 
any impression upon IMartin VValdeck, the youngest of 
the brothers. 

Martin was youthful, rash, and impetuous ; excelling 
in all the exercises which distinguish a mountaineer, and 
brave and undaunted from his familiar intercourse with 
the dangers that attend them. He laughed at the timidity 
of his brothers. “ Tell me not of such folly,” he said ; 
‘‘ the daemon is a good daemon — he lives among us as if 
he were a peasant like ourselves — haunts the lonely crags 
and recesses of the mountains like a huntsman or goat- 
herd — and he who loves the Harz-forest and its wild 
scenes cannot be indilTerent to the fate of the hardy chil- 
dren of the soil. But, if the daemon were as malicious 
as you would make him, how should he derive pouter 
over mortals wdio barely avail themselves of his gifts, with- 
out binding themselves to submit to his pleasure 9 When 
you carry your charcoal to the furnace, is not the money 
as good that is paid you by blaspheming Blaize, the old 
reprobate overseer, as if you got it from the pastor him- 
self 9 It is not the goblin’s gifts which can endanger you 
then, but it is the use you shall make of them that you 
must account for. And were the daemon to appear to 
me at this moment, and indicate to me a gold or silver 
mine, 1 would begin to dig away even before his back 
were turned, and J would consider myself as under pro- 
tection of a much Greater than he, while 1 made a good 
use of the w'ealtli he pointed out to me.” 

To this the elder brother replied, that wealth ill won 
w^as seldom well spent; while Martin presumptuously de- 
clared, that the ])ossession of all the treasures of the Harz 
w'ould not make the slightest alteration on his habits 
murals or character. 

His brother entreated Martin to talk less wildly upon 
this subject, and with some difficulty contrived to with- 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


is: 


ira\'v his attention, by calling it to the consideration of the 
approaching boar-cliase. This talk bronglit them to theii 
hut, a wreiclied wigwam, situated upon one side of a wild 
narrow, and romantic dell, in the recesses of the Brock 
enberg. They released their sister from attend'ng upon 
the operation of charring the wood, which requires con- 
stant attention, and divided among themselves the duty 
of watching it by night, according to their custom, one 
always waking while his brothers slept. 

Max Waldeck, the eldest, watched during the two first 
hours of the night, and was considerably alarmed, by ob- 
serving, upon the opposite bank of the glen, or valley, a 
huge fire surrounded by some figures that appeared to 
wheel around it with antic gestures. Max at first be- 
thought him of calling up his brothers ; but recollecting 
the daring character of the youngest, and finding it im- 
possible to wake the elder without also disturbing Martin — 
conceiving also what he saw to be an illusion of the dajmon, 
sent perhaps in consequence of the venturous expres- 
sions used by Martin on the preceding evening, he thought 
it best to betake himself to the safeguard of such prayers 
as- he could murmur over, and to watch in great terror 
and annoyance, this strange and alarming aj)parition. 
After blazing for some time, the fire faded gradually aw’ay 
into darkness, and the rest of Max’s watch was only dis- 
turbed by the remembrance of its terrors. 

George now occupied the place of Max, who had re- 
tired to rest. The phenomenon of a huge blazing fire, 
uj)on the opposite bank of the glen, again presented itself 
to ihe eye of the watchman. • It was surrounded as before 
by figures, which, distinguished by their opaque forms, 
being between the spectator and the red glaring light, 
moved and fluctuated around it as if engaged in some 
mystical ceremony. George, though equally cautious, 
was of a bolder character than his elder brother. He 
resolved to examine more nearly the object of his wonder ; 
and, accordingly, after crossing the rivulet which divided 
the glen, he climbed u]) the opposite bank, and approach- 


1S8 


THE A.XTK^UARY. 


ed within an arrow’s flight of the fire, wliich blazed ap 
parently with the same fury as when he first witnessed it 

The a])pearance of the assistants who surrounded it, 
resembled those phantoms whitdi are seen in a trcubleu 
dream, and at once confirmed the idea he had entertained 
from the first, that they did not belong to the human world. 
Amongst these strange unearthly forms, George Waldeck 
distinguished that of a giant overgrown with hair, holding 
an uprooted fir in his hand, with'which, from time to time, 
he seemed to stir the blazing fire, and having no other 
clothing than a wreath of oak leaves around his forehead 
and loins. George’s heart sunk within him at recognizing 
the well-known apparition of the Harz-daemon, as he had 
been often described to him by the ancient shepherds and 
huntsmen who had seen his form traversing the mountains 
He turned, and was about to fiy ; but, upon second 
thoughts, blaming his own cowardice, he recited mentally 
the verse of the Psalmist, “ All good angels, praise the 
Lord !” which is in that country supposed powerful as an 
exorcism, and turned himself once more towards the place 
where he had seen the fire. But it was no longer visible. 

The pale moon alone enlightened the side of the val- 
ley; and when George, with trembling steps, a moist brow, 
and hair bristling upright under his collier’s cap, came to 
the spot on which the fire had been so lately visible, mark- 
ed as it was by a scathed oak-tree, there appeared not 
on the heath the slightest vestiges of what he had seen. 
The moss and wild flowers were unscorched, and the 
branches of the oak-tree, which had so lately appeared 
enveloped in wreaths of flame and smoke, were moist 
with the dews of midnight. 

George returned to his hut with trembling steps, and 
arguing like his elder brother, resolved to say nothing 
of what he had seen, lest he should awake in Marti)i that 
daring curiosity which he almost deemed to be allied with 
impiety. 

It was now Martin’s turn to watch. The household 
cock had given his first summons, and the night was well 
nigh spent. Upon examining the state of the furnace ii; 


THE ANTIQ^UART. 


189 


wliicli the wood was deposited in order to its being co/cec?j 
oi charred^ lie was surprised to find tiiat the fire had not 
been sufficiently maintained ; for in liis excursion and its 
consequences, George had forgot the principal object of 
liis watch. Martin’s first thought was to call up the sluin- 
berers ; but observing that both his brothers slept unwont- 
edlv deep and heavily, he respected their repose, and 
set himself to supply the furnace with fuel without re- 
quiring their aid. What he heaped upon it was appar- 
ently damp and unfit for the purpose, for the fire seemed 
rathei to decay than revive. Martin next went to collect 
some boughs from a stack which had been carefully cut 
and dried for this purpose ; but, when he returned, he 
found the fire totally extinguished. This was a serious 
evil, and threatened them with loss of their trade for 
more than one day. The vexed and mortified watchman 
set about to strike a light in order to rekindle the fire, 
but the tinder was moist, and his labour proved in this 
respect also ineffectual. He was now about to call up his 
brothers, for circumstances seemed to be pressing, when 
flashes of light glimmered not only through the window, 
but through every crevice of the rudely-built hut, and 
summoned him to behold the same apparition which had 
before alarmed the successive watches of his brethren. 
His first idea was, that the Muhllerhaussers, their rivals in 
trade, and with whom they had had many quarrels, might 
have encroached iqion their bounds for the purpose of 
pirating their wood, and he resolved to awake his broth- 
ers, and be revenged on them for their audacity. But a 
short reflection and observation on the gestures and man- 
ner of those who seemed to “ work in the fire,” induced 
him to dismiss this belief, and, although rather sceptical 
in such matters, to conclude that what he saw was a su- 
pernatural phenomenon. But be they men or fiends,” 
said the undaunted forester, “ that busy themselves yon- 
der with such fantastical rites and gestures, I will go and 
demand a light to rekindle our furnace.” He relinquish- 
ed at the same time, the idea of awaking his brethren. 
There was a belief that such adventures as he was about 


190 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


10 undertake were accessible only to one person at a time 
lie feared also that his brothers, in their scrupulous tim- 
idity, might interfere to prevent his pursuing the investi- 
gation he had resolved to commence ; and therefore, 
snatching his boar-spear from the wall, the undaunted 
Martin Waldeck set forth on the adventure alone. 

With the same success as his brother George, but with 
courage far superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended 
:he hill, and approached so near the ghostly assembly, 
that he could recognize, in the presiding figure, the at- 
tributes of the Harz daemon. A cold shuddering assailed 
him for the first time in his life ; but the recollection that 
he had at a distance dared and even courted the inter- 
course which was now about to take place, confirmed his 
staggering courage, and pride supplying what he wanted 
in resolution, he advanced with tolerable firmness towards 
the fire, the figures which surrounded it ap})earing still 
more wild, fantastical, and supernatural, the more near he 
approached to the assembly. He was received with a 
loud shout of discordant and unnatural laughter, which, 
to his stunned ears, seemed more alarming than a com- 
bination of the most dismal and melancholy sounds that 
could be imagined. “ Who art thou 9” said the giant, 
compressing his savage and exaggerated features into a 
sort of forced gravity, while they were occasionally agi- 
tated by the convulsion of the laughter which he seemed 
to suppress. 

Martin Waldeck, the forester,” answered the hard}^ 
youth ; — “ And who are you 9” 

“ The King of the Waste and of the Mine,” answered 
the spectre ; — “ And why hast thou dared to encroach 
on my mysteries 9” 

“ 1 came in search of light to rekindle my fire,” an- 
swered Martin hardily, and then resolutely asked in his 
turn, “ What mysteries are those that you celebrate here 9” 

“ We celebrate,” answered the complaisant daemon, 
“ the wedding of Hermes with the Black Dragon — But 
take thy fire that thou earnest to seek, and begone — No 
mortal may long look upon us and live.” 


THE ANTK^UAIIY. 


191 


The peasant struck liis spear point into a large piece 
of blazing wood, which he heaved up with some diffi- 
culty, and then turned round to regain his hut, the shouts 
of laughter being renewed behind him with treble vio- 
lence, and ringing far down the narrow valley. When 
Martin returned to the hut, his first care, however much 
astonished with what he had seen, was to dispose the kin- 
dled coal among the fuel so as might best light the fire 
of his furnace ; but after many efforts, and all exertions 
of bellows and fire-prong, the coal he had brought from 
tlie daemon’s fire became totally extinct, without kindling 
any of the others. He turned about and observed the 
fire still blazing on the hill, although those who had been 
busied around it had disappeared. As he conceived the 
spectre 4iad been jesting with him, he gave way to the 
natural hardihood of his temper, and, determining to see 
the adventure to an end, resumed the road to the fire, 
from which, unopposed by the daemon, he brought off in 
the same manner a blazing piece of charcoal, but still 
without being able to succeed in lighting his fire. Im- 
punity having increased his rashness, he resolved upon a 
third experiment, and was as successful as before in reach- 
ing the fire ; but, when he had again appropriated a 
piece of burning coal, and had turned to depart, he heard 
the harsh and supernatural voice which had before accost 
ed him, pronounce these words, “ Dare not to return 
hither a fourth time !” 

The attempt to kindle the fire with this last coal having 
proved as ineffectual as on the former occasions, Martin 
relinquished the hopeless attempt, and flung himself on 
his bed of leaves, resolving to delay till the next morning 
the communication of his supernatural adventure to his 
brothers. He was awakened from a heavy sleep into 
which he had sunk, from fatigue of body and agitation 
of mind, by loud exclamations of surprise and joy. His 
brothers, astonished at finding the fire extinguished when 
they awoke, had proceeded to arrange the fuel in ordei 
:o renew it, when they found in the ashes three huge 
metallic masses, which their skill, (for most of the peasants 


l92 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


m the Harz are practical mineralogists,) immediately as« 
c^ertained to be pure gold. 

Jt was some damp upon their joyful congratulations 
when they learned from Martin the mode in uhicdi he 
had obtained this treasure, to which their own experience 
of the nocturnal vision induced them to give full credit. 
But they were unable to resist the temptation of sharing 
in their brother’s wealth. Taking now^ upon him as head 
of the house, Martin Waldeck bought lands and forests, 
built a castle, obtained a patent of nobility, and, greatly 
to the indignation of the ancient aristocracy of the neigh- 
bourhood, was invested with all the privileges of a man of 
family. His courage in public war, as well as in private 
feuds, together with the number of retainers whom he 
kept in pay, sustained him for some time against the odiuiii 
which was excited by his sudden elevation, and the arro- 
gance of his pretensions. And now it was seen in the 
instance of Martin Waldeck, as it has been in that of many 
others, how little mortals can foresee the effect of sudden 
prosperity on their own disposition. The evil propensities 
in his nature, which poverty had checked and repressed, 
ripened and bore their unhallowed fruit under the influ- 
ence of temptation and the means of indulgence. As 
Deep calls unto Deep, one bad passion awakened anoth- 
er ; — the fiend of avarice invoked that of pride, and 
pride was to be supported by cruelty and o))pression 
Waldeck’s character, always bold and daring, but render- 
ed harsh and assuming by prosjierity, soon made him 
odious, not to the nobles only, but likewise to the lower 
ranks, udio saw, with double dislike, the oppressive rights 
of the feudal nobility of the empire so remorselessly ex- 
ercised by one who had risen from the very dregs of the 
people. His adventure, although carefully concealed, 
began likewise to be whispered abroad, and the clergy 
already stigmatized as a wizard and accomplice of fiends, 
the wretch, who, having acquired so huge a treasure in 
50 strange a manner, had not sought to sanctify it by ded* 
icating a considerable portion to the use of the chur di. 
Surrounded by enemies, public and private, tormented 


THE AVTiqUAUY. 


193 


by a thousand feuds, and threatened by the church with 
L-xcoinnuinication, Martin ^Valdeck, or, as we uiiist iiou 
call him, the Baron Von VValdeck, often regretted bitter- 
ly ihe iabours and sports of his unenvied poverty. Bui 
his courage failed him not under all these difficulties, ano 
seemed rather to augment in proportion to the dangei 
which darkened around him, until an accident jirecijiitat- 
ed his fall. 

A proclamation by the reigning Duke of Brunswick had 
invited to a solemn tournament all German nobles of free 
and honourable descent, and Martin VValdeck, s|)lcn- 
didly armed, accompanied by his two brothers, hjkI a 
gallantly equipped retinue, liad the arrogance to appear 
among the chivalry of the province, and demand permis- 
sion to enter the lists. This was considered as lilhng 
up the measure of his presumption. A thousand vou-es 
exclaimed, “ We will have no cinder-sifter mingle in our 
games of cliivalry.” Irritated to frenzy, Martin drew ins 
sword and hewed down the herald, who, in compliance 
with the general outcry, opposed his entry into the lists. 
A hundred swords were unsheathed to avenge what was 
in those days regarded as a crime only inferior to sacri- 
lege, or regicide. W^aldeck, after defending himself like 
a lion, was seized, tried on the spot by the judges of the 
lists, and condemned, as the approjtriate punishment for 
breaking the peace of his sovereign, and violating the 
sacred person of a herald-at-arms, to have his right hand 
struck from his body, to be ignominiously deprived of the 
honour of nobility, of which he was unworthy, and to be 
expelled from the city. When he had been stripped ot 
liis arms, and sustained the mutilation imjtosed by tlris 
severe sentence, the unhajipy victim of ambition was 
abandoned to the rabble, who followed him with threats 
and outcries, levelled alternately against the necromancer 
and ojjpressor, which at length ended in violence. Hi? 
brothers, (for his retinue were fled and dispersed,) at 
emjth succeeded in rescuing him from the hands of the 
populace, when, satiated with cruelty, they had left hun 

VOL. I, 


194 


THE ANTI Q,U ARY. 


half dead through loss of blood, and through the outrages 
he liad sustained. They were not permitted, such was 
the ingenious cruelty of their enemies, to make use of 
any otlier means of removing him, excepting such a col- 
lier’s cart as they had themselves formerly used, in which 
they deposited their brother on a truss of straw, scarcely 
expecting to reach any place of shelter ere death should 
release him from his misery. 

When the Waldecks, journeying in this miserable man- 
ner, had approached the verge of their native country, 
in a hollow way between two mountains, they perceived 
a figure advancing towards them, which at first sight seem- 
ed to be an aged man. But as he approached, his limbs 
and stature increased, the cloak fell from his shoulders, 
his pilgrim’s staff was changed into an uprooted pine- 
tree, and the gigantic figure of the Harz daemon passed 
before them in his terrors. When he came opposite to 
the cart which contained the miserable Waldeck, his huge 
features dilated into a grin of unutterable contempt and 
malignity, as he asked the sufferer, ‘‘ How like you the 
fire MY coals have kindled T’ The power of motion 
which terror suspended in his two brothers, seemed to be 
restored to Martin by the energy of his courage. He 
raised himself on the cart, bent his brows, and, clenching 
liis fist, shook it at the spectre with a ghastly look of hate 
and defiance. The goblin vanished with his usual tre- 
mendous and explosive laugh, and left Waldeck exhaust- 
ed with this effort of ex{)iring nature. 

The terrified brethren turned their vehicle toward the 
towers of a convent, which arose in a wood of pine- 
trees beside the road. They were charitably received 
by a bare-footed and long-bearded capuchin, and IVIartin 
survived only to complete the first confession he had made 
since the day of his sudden prosperity, and to receive 
absolution from the very priest, whom, precisely on that 
day three years, he had assisted to pelt out of the hamlet 
of Morgenbrodt. The three years of precarious pros- 
perity were supposed to have a mysterious corresj^ondence 


THE ANTIC^UARY.. 


195 


^^nli the number of !iis visits to the spectral fire upon the 

The body of IMartin Waldeck was interred in the con- 
vent where lie expired, in which his brothers, bavins 
assumed the habit of the order, lived and died in the per- 
lorrnance of acts of charity and devotion. His lands, to 
which no one asserted any claim, lay waste until tliey 
were reassumed by the emperor as a lapsed fief ; and the 
rums of the castle, which Waldeck had called by his 
own name, are still shunned by the miner and forester as 
haunted by evil spirits. Thus were the miseries attend- 
ant upon wealth, hastily attained and ill-employed, ex- 
emplified in the fortunes of Martin Waldeck. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Here has been such a stormy encounter 
Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier, 

About I know not what ! — nothing, indeed ; 

Competitions, degrees, and comparatives 
Of soldiership ! A Fair Quarrel, 

The attentive audience gave the fair transcriber of the 
foregoing legend the thanks which politeness required. 
Oldbuck alone curled up his nose, and observed that Miss 
W ardour’s skill was something like that of the alchemists, 
for she had contrived to extract a sound and valuable 
moral out of a very trumpery and ridiculous legend. “ It 
IS the fashion, as I am given to understand, to admire 
those extravagant fictions — for me, 

T bear an English heart, 

Unused at ghosts and rattling bones to start." 

“ Under your favour, my goot Mr. Oldenbuck,” said 
the German, “ Miss Wardour has turned de story, as 
she does every thing as she touches, very pretty indeed ; 
but all the history of de Harz goblin, and how he waks 


196 


THE ANTKiUART. 


among de dnsolate mountains wid a great fir-tree for fill 
walking-cane, and wid de great green bush around ins 
head and his waist — that is as true as I am an honest man.” 

There is no disputing any proj)osition so well guar- 
anteed,” answered the Antiquary dryly. But at this mo- 
ment the approach of a stranger cut sliort the conversation. 

The new comer was a handsome young man, about fi\m- 
and-twenty, in a military undress, and bearing, in his look 
and manner, a good deal of the martial profession, nay, 
perhaps a little more than is quite consistent with the ease 
of a man of perfect good-breeding, in whom no profes- 
sional habit ought to predominate. He was at once greet- 
ed by the greater part of the company. “ My dear Hec- 
tor !” said Miss M’lntyre, as she rose to take his hand 

“ Hector, son of Priam, wltence contest thou 9” said 
the Antiquary. 

“ From Fife, my liege,” answered the young soldier, 
and continued, when he had politely saluted the rest of 
the> company, and particularly Sir Arthur and his daughter 
— 1 learned from one of the servants, as 1 rode towards 
Monkbarns to pay my respects to you, that 1 should find 
the present company in this place, and 1 willingly em- 
brace the opportunity to pay my respects to so many of 
my friends at once.” 

“ And to a new one also, my trusty Trojan,” said 
Oldbuck. “ ]\Ir. Lovel, this is my nejihew. Captain 
IM’lntyre — Hector, 1 recommend IMr. Lovel to your ac- 
quaintance.” 

I’he young soldier fixed his keen eye upon Lovel, and 
paid his compliment with more reserve than cordiality ; 
and as our acquaintance thought his coldness almost su- 
percilious, he was equally frigid and haughty in making 
the necessary return to it ; and thus a prejudice seemed 
to arise between them at the very commencement of their 
acquaintance. 

The observations which Lovel made during the re- 
mainder of this pleasure party did not tend to reconede 
him with this addition to their society. Captain JVPJntyre 
with the gallantry to be expected from his age and pro 


THE AI^TIQ.UARY. 


197 


fession, attached himself to the service of Miss Wardoiir, 
and ofFi^red her, on every possible opportunity, those 
marks of attention which Lovel would have given the 
world to have rendered, and was only deterred from of- 
fering by the fear of her displeasure. With forlorn de- 
jection at one moment, and with irritated susceptibility at 
another, he saw this handsome young soldier assume and 
exercise all the privileges of a cavalier servente. He 
handed Miss Wardour’s gloves, he assisted her in putting 
on her shawl, he attached himself to her in the walks, 
had a hand ready to remove every impediment in her 
path, and an arm to support her where it was rugged or 
difficult ; his conversation was addressed chiefly to her, 
and, where circumstances permitted, it was exclusively 
so. All this, Lovel well knew, might be only that sort 
of egotistical gallantry which induces some young men 
of the present day to give themselves the air of engross- 
ing the attention of the prettiest woman in company, as 
if the others were unworthy of their notice. But he 
thought he observed in the conduct of Captain M’Intyre 
something of marked and peculiar tenderness, which was 
calculated to alarm the jealousy of a lover. Miss War- 
dour also received his attentions ; and although his can- 
dour allowed they were of a kind which could not be 
repelled without some strain of affectation, yet it galled 
him to the heart to witness that she did so. 

The heart-burning which these reflections occasioned 
proved very indifferent seasoning to the dry antiquarian 
discussions with which Oidbuck, who continued to de- 
mand his particular attention, was unremittingly perse- 
cuting him ; and he underwent, witli fits of impatience 
that amounted almost to loathing, a course of lectures 
upon monastic architecture, in all its styles, from the 
massive Saxon to the florid Gothic, and from that to the 
mixed and composite architecture of James the First’s 
time, when, according to Oidbuck, all m-ders w’ere con- 
founded, and columns of various descriptions arose side 
by side, or were piled above each other, as if symmetry 
VOL. I. 


198 


THE ANTIQ,UART. * 


had benn forgotten, and the elemental principles of art 
resolved into their primitive coitl’usinn. 

“ V\'hat can be more culling to the lieartihan the sighi 
of evils.” said Oldbuck, in rapiurous enthusiasm, “ which 
we are compelled to behold, wh.ile we do not j)ossess tl e 
power of remedying them 9” Lovel answered by an in- 
voluntary groan. “ I see, my dear young friend, and 
most congenial spirit, that you feel these enormities al 
most as much as I do. Have you ever ap))roached them 
or met them without longing to tear, to deface, what is 
so dishonourable V’ 

“ Dishonourable !” echoed Lovel, “ in what respect 
dishonourable 

“ I mean disgraceful to the arts.” 

“ Where 1 how V’ 

“ U})on the portico, for exam])le, of the schools of 
Oxford, where, at immense expense, the barbarous, fan- 
tastic, and ignorant architect has chosen to represent the 
whole five orders of architecture on the front of one 
building.” 

By such attacks as these, Oldbuck, unconscious of the 
torture he was giving, compelled Lovel to give him a 
share of his attention, — as a skilful angler, by means of 
his line, maintains an influence over the most frantic 
movements of his agonized j)rey. 

They were now on their return to the spot where 
they had left the carriages ; and it is inconceivable how 
often, in the course of that short w^alk, Lovel, exhausted 
by the unceasing prosing .of his worthy companion, men- 
tally bestowed on the devil, or any one else that would 
have rid him of hearing more ot them, all the orders 
and disorders of architecture which had been iiivenied or 
combined from the building of Solomon’s temple down- 
wards. A slight incident occurred, however, which 
sprinkled a little patience on the heat of liis distempera- 
ture. 

Miss Wardour, and her self-elected knight-companion, 
rather preceded the others in the narrow path, when the 
young lady apparently became desirous to unite hersel. 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


199 


wllli the rest of the party, and to break off her tete-a- 
tete wiiK the young otlicer, fairly made a pause until Mr 
Okibuck came up. “ I wished to ask you a (jueslion 
.Mr. Oldbuck, concerning tlie date of these interesting 
ruins.” 

It would be doing injustice to Miss Wardour’s savoir 
f'aire, to suppose she was not aware that such a rpiestiou 
would lead to an answer of no limited length. I’lie An- 
titjuary, starling like a war-horse at the trumpet sound, 
jdunged at once into the various arguments for and 
against the date of 1273, which had been assii^ned to 
the j)riory of St. Ruth by a late publication on Scottish 
architectural antiquities. He raked up the names ol 
all the priors who had ruled the institution, of the nobles 
who had bestowed lands upon it, and of the monarchs 
who had slept their last sleep among its roofless courts. 
As a train which takes fire is sure to light another, if there 
be sucli in the vicinity, the Baronet, catching at the name 
of one of his ancestors which occurred in Oldbuck’s dis- 
quisition, entered upon an account of his wars, his con- 
quests, and his trophies ; and worthy Dr. Blattergowl was 
induced, from the mention of a grant of lands, cum (led- 
mis inclusis tnin vicarih qumn garbalihus, et nunqvnm 
anted separatis, to enter into a long exjilanation concern- 
ing the interpretation given by the Teind Court in the 
consideration of such a clause, which had occurred in a 
process for localling his last augmentation of stipend. 
The orators, like three racers, each pressed forward to 
the goal, without much regarding how each crossed and 
jostled his competitors. Mr. Oldbuck harangued, the 
baronet declaimed, IMr. Blattergowl prosed and laid down 
the law, while the Latin forms of feudal grants w< re 
mingled with the jargon of blazonry, and the yet more 
barbarous phraseology of the Teind Court of Scotland 
‘ He was,” exclaimed Oldbuck, speaking of the Prior 
Adhemar, “ indeetl, an exemplary prelate ; and, from 
his strictness of morals, rigid execution of penance, join- 
ed to the charitable disposition of his mind, and the infir- 
mities endured by his great age and ascetic habits” 


200 


THE ANTIC^IJART. 


Here he chanced to cough, and Sir Arthur burst in 
or rather continued — “ was called popularly Hell-in 
harness ; he carried a shield, gules with a sable less, 
which we have since disused, and was slain at the battle 
of Vernoil, in F ranee, after killing six of the English with 
his own” 

“ Decreet of certification,” proceeded the clergyman, 
in that prolonged, steady, prosing tone, which, however 
overpowered at first by the vehemence of competition, 
promised, in the long run, to obtain the ascendancy in 
this strife of narrators ; “ Decreet of certification having 
gone oat, and parties being held as confessed, the proof 
seemed to be held as concluded, when their lawyer mov- 
ed to have it opened up, on the allegation that they had 
witnesses to bring forward, that they had been in the 
habit of carrying the ewes to lamb on thd teind-free land, 
whicii was a mere evasion, for” 

But here the baronet and MrT Oldbuck having recover- 
ed their wind and continued their respective harangues, 
the three strands of the conversation, to speak the lan- 
guage of a rope-work, were again twined together into 
one undistinguishable string of confusion. 

Vet howsoever uninteresting this pyebald jargon might 
seem, it was obviously Miss Wardour’s purpose to give it 
her attention, in preference to yielding Captain M’Intyre 
an opportunity of renewing their private conversation, 
bo that after waiting for a little time with displeasure ill 
concealed by his haughty features, he left her to enjoy her 
bad taste, and taking his sister by the arm, detained her a 
little behind the rest of the party. 

“ So I find, IMary, that your neighbourhood has neither 
become more lively nor less learned during my absence.” 

“ We lacked your patience and wisdom to instruct us. 
Hector.” 

“ Thank you, my dear sister. But you have got a 
wiser, if not so lively an addition to your society, than 
your unworthy brother — pray, who is this Mr. Lovel, 
whom our old uncle has a t once placed so high in his 


THE \NTl(|UARY. 201 

good graces 9 — he does not use to be so accessible to 
strangers.” 

“ Mr. Lovel, Hector, is a very gentleinan-like young 
man.” v 

“ Ay ; that is to say, be bows when he comes into a 
room, and wears a coat that is whole at the elbows.” 

‘‘ No, brother ; it says a great deal more. It says 
that bis manners and discourse express the feelings and 
education of the higher class.” 

“ But I desire to know what is his birth and his rank 
in society ; and what is his title to be in the circle in 
which I find him domesticated 

“ If you mean how he comes to visit at Monkbarns, 
you must ask my uncle, who will probably reply, that he 
invites to his own house such company as he pleases ; 
and if you mean to ask Sir Arthur, you must know that 
Mr. Lovel rendered Miss Wardour and him a service of 
the most important kind.” 

“ What ! that romantic story is true then ^ — and pray 
does the valorous knight aspire, as is befitting on such 
occasions, to the hand of the young lady whom he re- 
deemed from peril — It is quite in the rule of romance, 
I am aware ; and I did think that she was uncommonly 
dry to me as we walked together, and seemed from time to 
time as if she watched whether she was not giving ofience 
to her gallant cavalier.” 

“ Dear Hector,” said his sister, “ if you really con- 
tinue to nourish any affection for Miss Wardour” 

“ If, Mary ? — what an if was there !” 

‘‘ 1 own I consider your perseverance as hopeless.” 

‘‘ And why hopeless, my sage sister ?” asked Captain 
M’Intyre ; “ Miss Wardour, in the state of her father’s 
affairs, cannot pretend to much fortune ; — and, as to fami- 
ly, I trust that of M’Intyre is not inferior.” 

“ But, Hector,” continued his sister, Sir Arthur al- 
ways considers us as members of the Monkbarns family.” 

“ Sir Arthur may consider what he pleases,” answer- 
ed the Highlander, scornfully ; “ but any one with com- 
mon sense will consider that the wife takes rank from the 


202 


TMIi ANTK^UARY. 


husband, and that my father’s pedigree of fifteen unblem- 
islied descents must have ennobled my mother, if hei 
/eiiis hud been filled witlj printers’ ink.” 

“ For God’s sake, Hector.” replied his anxious sister 
‘ take care of yourself — a single exj)ression of that kind, 
repealed to my uncle by an Indiscreet or interested eaves- 
dropper, would lose you his favour foi-ever, and destroy 
all chance of your succeeding to his estate.” 

“ Be it so,” answered the heedless young man ; “ I 
tin one of a profession which the world has never 
oeen able, to do without, and wdil far less endure to 
want for half a century to come ; and my good old uncle 
may tack his good estate and his plebeian name to your 
apron-string if he pleases, Mary, and you may w’ed this 
new favourite of his if you please, and you may both of 
you live (]uiet, peaceable, well-regulated lives, if it })leases 
Heaven. ]\Iy ])art is taken — I’ll fawn on no man for an 
inheritance which should be mine by birth.” 

Miss iM’Intyre laid her hand on her brother’s arm, and 
entreated him to suppress his vehemence. “ Who,” she 
said, “ injures or seeks to injure you but your own hasty 
temper — wdrat dangers are you defying, but those you 
have yourself conjured up ? — Our uncle has hitherto been 
all that is kind and })aternal in his conduct to us, and why 
should you su})pose he will in future he otherwise than 
wdiat he has ever been, since we were left as orphans to 
his care V 

“ He is an excellent old gentleman, I must own,’' 
replied M’Intyre, “ and I am enraged at myself when 1 
chance to offend him ; but then his eternal harangues 
u})on topics not u'orth the spark of a Hint — his investiga- 
tions about invalided pots and pans and tobacco-stoppers 
past service — all these things put me out of patience — I 
have something of Hotspur in me, sister, 1 must confess.’’ 

“ Too much, too much, my dear brother. Into how 
many risks, and,, forgive me for saying, some of them 
fittle creditable, has this absolute and violent temper led 
yovi ! Do not let such clouds darken the time you are 
now to pass in our neighbourhood but let our old bene- 


THE ANTiq^UARY. 


20S] 

Paclor see liis kinsman as he is, — generous, kind, and live- 
ly, without being rude, lieadstrong, and im])eluous.” 

W'eil,” answered CajHain M’Intyrc, “ 1 am’schooled 
— good manners be my speed ! I’ll do the civil thing by 
your new friend — I’ll have some Talk with this Mr. Lovel.” 

With this determination, in which he was for the lime 
perfectly sincere, he joined the party who were walking 
before tliem. The treble dis(|ulsilion was by this lime 
ended ; and Sir Arthur was speaking on the subject 
ol‘ foreign news, and the political and military situation 
of tiie country, themes upon which every man thinks 
himself qualified to give an opinion. An action of the 
preceding year having come upon the (apis, Love), acci- 
dentally mingling in the conversation, made some asser.- 
tion concerning it, of the accuracy of which Captain 
M’Inlyre seemed not to be convinced, although his doubts 
were politely expressed. 

“ You must confess yourself in the wrong here, Hec- 
tor,” said his uncle, “ althougli I know no man less 
willing to give up an argument ; but you were in England 
at the time, and i\lr. Lovel was ]n-obably concerned in 
the affair. ” 

“ 1 am speaking to a military man, then,” said IM’ln- 
tyre ; “ may I inquire to what regiment Mr. Lovel be - 
longs 9” — ]\Ir. Lovel gave him the number of the regi- 
ment. — “ It happens strangely that we should never have 
met before, Mr. Lovel. 1 know your regiment very well, 
and have served along with them at different times.” 

A blush crossed Level’s countejiance. “ 1 have not 
lately Ijeen with my regiment,” he replied ; “ I servetl 
he last campaign u])on the staff of General Sir .” 

“ Indeed ! that is more wonderful than the other cir- 
cumstance; for, although I did not serve with General 

Sir , yet I had an opportunity of kiu)wing the 

names of tlie officers who held situations in his family 
and 1 cannot recollect that of Lo\t1.” 

At this observation, Lovel again blushed so deeply, 
as to attract tiie attention of the whole company, while a 
scorr^ul laugh seemed to indicate Captain M’Intyre’.s 


204 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


triumph. “ There is something strange in Jus,” said 
Oldbuck to himself, “ but 1 will not readily give up my 
phoenix of post-chaise companions — all his actions, lan- 
guage, and bearing, are those of a gentleman.” 

Lovel, in the meanwhile, had taken out his pocket- 
book, and selecting a letter, from which lie took off the 
envelope, he handed it to M’lnlyre. “ You know the 
General’s hand, in all probability — 1 own I ought not to 
show these exaggerated expressions of his regard and es- 
teem for me.” The letter contained a very handsome 
compliment from the officer in question for some military 
service lately performed. Captain M’lntyre, as he glanc- 
ed his eye over it, could not deny that it was written in the 
General’s hand, but dryly observed, as he returned it, that 
the address was wanting. “ The address. Captain M’ln- 
tyre,” answered Lovel in the same tone, “ shall be at your 
service whenever you choose to inquire after it.” 

“ I certainly shall not fail to do so,” rejoined the sol- 
dier. 

“ Come, come,” exclaimed Oldbuck, “ what is the 
meaning of all this — have we got Hiren here 9 — We’ll 
liave no swaggering, youngsters. Are you come from 
the wars abroad to stir up domestic strife in our peaceful 
land 9 are you like bull-dog puppies forsooth, that, when 
the bull, poor fellow, is removed from the ring, fall to 
brawl among themselves, worry each other, and bite hon- 
est folks’ shins that are standing by 9” 

Sir Arthur trusted, he said, that the young gentlemen 
would not so far forget themselves as to grow warm upon 
such a trifling subject as the back of a letter. 

Both the disputants disclaimed any such intention, and, 
with high colour and flashing eyes,' protested they were 
never so cool in their lives. But an obvious damp w^as 
ca*st over the party ; they talked in future too much by 
the rule to be sociable ; and Lovel, conceiving himself 
the object of cold and suspicious looks from the rest of 
the company, and sensible that his indirect replies had 
given them permission to entertain strange opinions 
respecting him, made a gallant determination to sacrifice 


THE ANTI ARY. 205 

the pleasure he had proposed in spending the day at 
Knockwinnock. 

He affected, therefore, to complain of a violent head- 
ache, occasioned by the heat of the day, to which he had 
not been exposed since his illness, and made a formal 
apology to Sir Arthur, who, listening more to recent sus- 
picion than to the gratitude due for former services, did 
not press him to keep his engagement more than good 
breeding exactly demanded. 

When Lovel took leave of the ladies. Miss Wardour’s 
manner seemed more anxious than he had hitherto re- 
marked it. She indicated by a glance of her eye towards 
Captain M’Intyre, perceptible only by Lovel, the subject 
of her alarm, and hoped, in a voice greatly under her 
usual tone, it was not a less pleasant engagement which 
deprived them of the pleasure of Mr. Lovel’s company. 
“ No engagement had intervened,” he assured her ; “ it 
was only the return of a complaint by which he had been 
for some time occasionally attacked.” 

“ The best remedy in such a case is prudence, and 1 
— every friend of Mr. Lovel’s, will expect him to employ 
it.” 

Lovel bowed low, and coloured deeply, and Miss 
Wardour, as if she felt that she had said too much, turned 
and got into the carriage. Lovel had next to part with 
Oldbuck, who, during this interval, had, with Caxon’s as- 
sistance, been arranging his disordered periwig, and brush- 
ing his coat, which exhibited some marks of the rude path 
they had traversed. “ What, man !” said Oldbuck, 
“ you are not going to leave us on account of that foolish 
Hector’s indiscreet curiosity and vehemence 9 — Why, he 
is a thoughtless boy — a spoiled child from the time he 
was in the nurse’s arms — he threw his coral and bells at 
my head for refusing him a bit of sugar — And you have 
too much sense to mind such a shrewish boy — xquam 
servare mentem is the motto of our friend Horace. I’ll 
school Hector by and by, and put it all to rights.” But 
Lovel persisted in his design of returning to Fairport. 

10 von. I 


206 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


The Antiquary then assumed a graver tone. ‘‘ Take 
heed, young man, to your present feelings. . Your life 
has been given you for useful and valuable purposes, and 
should be reserved to illustrate the literature of your 
country, when you are not called upon to expose it in her 
defence, or in the rescue of the innocent. Private war, a 
practi 3 e unknown to the civilized ancients, is, of all the 
absurdities introduced by the Gothic tribes, the most gross, 
impious, and cruel. Let me hear no more of these absurd 
quarrels, and I will show you the treatise upon the duello, 
which 1 composed when the town-clerk and provost 
Mucklewhame chose to assume the privileges of gentle- 
men, and challenged each other. I thought of printing 
my essay, which is signed Pacificator ; but there was no 
need, as the matter was taken up by the town-council oi 
the borough.” 

“ But I assure you, my dear sir, there is nothing 
between Captain M’Intyre and me that can render such 
respectable interference necessary.” 

“ See it be so, for otherwise I will stand second to both 
parties.” 

So saying, the old gentleman got into the chaise, close 
to which Miss M’tntyre had detained her brother, upon 
the same principle that the owner of a quarrelsome dog 
keeps him by his side to prevent his fastening upon anoth- 
er. But Hector contrived to give her precaution the slip, 
for, as he was on horseback, he lingered behind tlie car- 
riages until they had fairly turned the corner in the road 
to Knockwinnock, and then wheeling his horse’s head 
round, gave him the spur in the opposite direction. 

A very few minutes brought him up with Lovel, who, 
perhaps anticipating his intention, had not put his horse 
beyond a slow walk, when the clatter of hoofs behind 
him announced Captain M’Intyre. The young soldier, 
his natural heat of temper exasperated by the rapidity oi 
motion, reined his horse up suddenly and violently by 
Lovel’s side, and, touching his hat slightly, inquired, in a 
very haughty tone of voice, “ What am t to understand. 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


207 


sir, by your telling me that your address was at my ser- 
vice ?” 

“ Simply, sir,” replied Love), “ that my name is Lovel, 
and that my residence is, for the present, Fairport, as you 
will see by this card.” 

“ And this is all the information you are disposed to 
give me ?” 

“ I see no right you have to require more.” 

“ I find you, sir, in company with my sister,” said the 
young soldier, ‘‘ and I have a right to know who is ad- 
mitted into Miss M’lntyre’s society.” 

I shall take the liberty of disputing that right,” replied 
Lovel, with a manner as haughty as that of the young 
soldier ; “ you find me in society who are satisfied with 
the degree of information on my affairs which I have 
thought proper to communicate, and you, a mere stranger, 
have no right to inquire further.” 

“ Mr. Lovel, if you served as you say you have” 

If !” interrupted Lovel — “ If I have served as I say 
I have ?” 

“ Yes, sir, such is my expression — if you have so 
served, you must know that you owe me satisfaction 
either in one way or other.” 

“ If that be your opinion, I shall be proud to give it 
to you. Captain M’Intyre, in the way in which the word is 
generally used among gentlemen.” 

“Very well, sir,” rejoined Hector, and turning his horse 
round, galloped off to overtake his party. 

His absence had already alarmed them, and his sister 
having stopped the carriage, had her neck stretched out 
of the window to see where he was. 

“ What is the matter with you now 9” said the Anti- 
quary, “ riding to and fro as your neck were upon the 
wager — why do you not keep up with the carriage 

“ I forgot my glove, sir,” said Hector. 

“ Forgot your glove ! — I presume you meant to say 
you went to throw it down — but I will take order with 
you, my young gentleman — you shall return with me this 
night to Monkbarns.” So saying, he bid the postilion 
go on. 


208 


THE ANTIQ,I7ARY* 


CHAPTER XX. 

If you fail Honour here. 

Never presume to serve her any more ; 

Bid farewell to the integrity of armes, 

And the honourable name of soldier 

Fall from you, like a shivered wreath of laurel 

By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. 

A Faire Quarreh. 

Early the next morning, a gentleman came to wait 
upon Mr. Lovel, who was up and ready to receive him. 
He was a military gentleman, a friend of Captain M’ln- 
tyre’s,at present in Fairport on the recruiting service. 
Lovel and he were slightly known to each other. “ 1 
presume, sir,” said Mr. I^esley, (such was the name of 
the visiter,) ‘‘ that you guess the occasion of my troub- 
ling you so early 

“ A message from Captain M’Intyre, I presume 9” 

‘‘ The same — he holds himself injured by the mannei 
in which you declined yesterday to answer certain inqui- 
ries which he conceived himself entitled to make respect- 
ing a gentleman whom he found in intimate society 'with 
his family.” 

“ May I ask, if you, Mr. Lesley, would have inclined 
to satisfy interrogatories so haughtily and unceremonious 
ly put to you 9” 

“ Perhaps not; and ‘therefore, as I know the warmth 
of my friend M’Intyre on such occasions, I feel very 
desirous of acting as peace-maker. From Mr. Lovel’s 
very gentleman-like manners, every one must strongly 
wish to see him repel all that sort of dubious calumny 
which will attach itself to one whose situation is not fully 
explained. If he will permit me, in friendly conciliation, 
to inform Captain M’Intyre of his real name, for we are 
led to conclude that of Lovel is assumed” — 


THE ANTIQ,TJAlRY. 


209 


“ I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot admit that infer- 
ence.” 

“ Or at least,” said Lesley, proceeding, ‘‘ that it is 
not the name by which Mr. Lovel has been at all times 
distinguished — if Mr. Lovel will have the goodness to 
explain this circumstance, which, in my opinion, he should 
do in justice to his own character, I will answer for the 
amicable arrangement of this unpleasant business.” 

“ Which is to say, Mr. Lesley, that if I condescend 
to answer questions which no man has a right to ask, 
and which are now put to me under penalty of Cap- 
tain M’Intyre’s resentment, Captain M’Intyre will conde- 
scend to rest satisfied 9 Mr. Lesley, I have just one word 
to say on this subject — I have no doubt my secret, if I 
had one, might be safely intrusted to your honour, but I 
do not feel called upon to satisfy the curiosity of any one. 
Captain M’Intyre met me in society which of itself was a 
warrant to all the world, and particularly ought to be such 
to him, that I was a gentleman. He has, in my opinion, 
no right to go any further, or to inquire the pedigree 
rank, or circumstances of a stranger, who, without seek- 
ing any intimate connection with him, or his, chances to 
dine with his uncle, or walk in company with his sister.” 

“ In that case. Captain M’Intyre requests you to be in- 
formed, that your farther visits at Monkbarns, and all con- 
nection with Miss M’Intyre, must be dropt, as disagreeable 
to him.” 

“ I shall certainly,” said Lovel, ‘ visit Mr. Oldbuck 
when it suits me, without paying the least respect to his 
nephew’s threats or irritable feelings. I respect the 
young lady’s name too much (though nothing can be 
slighter than our acquaintance) to introduce it into such 
a discussion.” 

“ Since that is your resolution, sir,” answered Lesley, 
“ Captain M’Intyre requests that Mr. Lovel, unless he 
wishes to be announced as a very dubious character will 
favour him with a meeting this evening, at seven, at the 
thorn-tree in the little valley, close by the ruins of St. 
Ruth.” 

von. I. 


210 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


“ Most unquestionably, I will wait upon him. There 
is only one difficulty — I must find a friend to accompany 
me, and where to seek one on this short notice, as 1 have 
no acquaintances in Fairport — I will be on the spot, how- 
ever, Captain M’Intyre may be assured of that.” 

Lesley had taken his hat, and was as far as the door 
of the apartment, when, as if moved by the peculiarity ol 
Level’s situation, he returned, and thus addressed him : 
“ Mr. Lovel, there is something so singular in all this, that 
I cannot help again resuming the argument. You must 
be yourself aware at this moment of the inconvenience 
of your preserving an incognito, for which, I am convinc- 
ed there can be no dishonourable reason. Still, this mys- 
tery renders it difficult for you to procure the assistance ol 
a friend in a crisis so delicate — nay, let me add, that 
many persons will even consider it as a piece of Quix- 
otry in M’Intyre to give you a meeting, while your char- 
acter and circumstances are involved in such obscurity.” 

‘‘ I understand your innuendo, Mr. Lesley,” rejoined 
Lovel, “ and though I might be offended at its severity, 
1 am not so, because it is meant kindly. But, in my 
opinion, he is entitled to all the privileges of a gentleman, 
to whose charge, during the time he has been known in 
the society where he happens to move, nothing can be 
laid that is unhandsome or unbecoming. For a friend, I 
dare say I shall find some one or other who will do me 
that good turn ; and if his experience be less than I 
could wish, I am certain not to suffer through that cir- 
cumstance when you are in the field for my antagonist.” 

“ I trust you will not,” said Lesley ; “ but as I must, 
for my own sake, be anxious to divide so heavy a respon- 
sibility with a capable assistant, allow me to say, that 
Lieutenant Taffril’s gun-brig is come into the road-stead, 
and he himself is now at old Caxon’s, where he lodges, 
r think you have the same degree of acquaintance with 
him as with me, and, as I am sure I should wilKngly have 
rendered you such a service were I not engaged on the 
other side, I am convinced he will do so at your first re 
quest.” 


THE ANTiq^TJARY. 


21J 


At the thorn-tree, then, Mr. Lesley, at seven tins 
evening — the arms, 1 presume, are pistols 

“ Exactly ; M Intyre has chosen the hour at which 
he can best escape from Monkbarns- he was with me this 
morning by five in order to return and present himself 
before his uncle was up. Good morning to you, Mr. 
Lovel.” And Lesley left the apartment. 

Lovel was as brave as most men ; but none can inter- 
nally regard such a crisis as now approached, withou 
deep feelings of awe and uncertainty. In a few hours 
he might be in another world to answer for an action 
which his calmer thought told him was unjustifiable in a 
religious point of view, or he might be wandering about 
in the present like Cain, with the blood of his brother on 
his head. And all this might be saved by speaking a 
single word. Yet pride whispered, that, to speak that 
word now, would be ascribed to a motive which would 
degrade him more low than even the most injurious rea- 
sons that could be assigned for his silence. Every one, 
Miss Wardour included, must then, he thought, account 
him a mean, dishonoured poltroon, who gave to the fear 
of meeting Captain M’lntyre, the explanation he had re- 
fused to the calm and handsome expostulations of Mr. 
Lesley. M’Intyre’s insolent behaviour to himself person- 
ally, the air of pretension which he assumed towards Miss 
Wardour, and the extreme injustice, arrogance, and in- 
civility of his demands upon a perfect stranger, seemed 
to justify him in repelling his rude investigation. In 
short, he formed the resolution, which might have been 
expected from so young a man, to shut the eyes, namely, 
of his calmer reason, and follow the dictates of his of- 
fended pride. With this purpose he sought Lieutenant 
Taffril. 

The Lieutenant received him with the good- breeding 
of a gentleman, and the frankness of a sailor, and listen- 
ed with no small surprise to the detail which preceded 
his request, that he might be favoured with his company 
at his meeting with Captain M’lntyre. When he had 


212 


THE ANTiq^UARY. 


finished, TafFril rose up and walked through his apart- 
ment once or twice. 

“ This is a most singular circumstance,” he said, 
“ and really” 

“ I am conscious, Mr. TafFril, how little I am entitled 
to make my present request, but the urgency of circum- 
stances hardly leaves me an alternative.” 

“ Permit me to ask you one question,” asked the sailor , 

is there anything of which you are ashamed in the cir- 
cumstances which you have declined to communicate 

“ Upon my honour, no ; there is nothing but what, in 
a very short time, I trust I may publish to the whole 
world.” 

“ I hope the mystery arises from no false shame at 
the lowness of your friends, perhaps, or connexions 9” 

“ No, on my word,” replied Lovel. 

“ I have little sympathy for that folly,” said TafFril ; 

indeed I cannot be supposed to have any ; for, speak- 
ing of my relations, I may be said to have come myseli 
from before the mast, and I believe I shall very soon form 
a connexion, which the world will think low enough, with 
a very amiable girl to whom I have been attached since 
we were next-door neighbours, at a time when I little 
thought of the good fortune which has brought me for- 
ward in the service.” 

“ I assure you, Mr. TafFril,” replied Lovel, “ whatever 
were the rank of my parents, I should never think of con- 
cealing it from a spirit of petty pride. But I am so situ- 
ated at present, that I cannot enter on the subject of my 
tamily with any propriety.”. 

“ It is quite enough,” said the honest sailor, “ give me 
your hand ; I’ll see you as well through this business as 
I can, though it is but an unpleasant one after all — but what 
of that ? our own honour has the next call on us after 
our country — you are a lad of spirit, and I own I think 
Mr. Hector IM’lntyre, with his long pedigree and his airs 
of family, very much of a jackanapes. His father wa? 
a soldier of fortune as 1 am a sailor — he himself, I sup- 
pose, is little better, unless just as his uncle pleases— and 


THE. ANTIQ^UARY. 


21S 


ivliether one pursues fortune by land, or sea, makes no 
great difference, I should fancy.” 

“ None in the universe, certainly,” answered Lovel. 

‘‘ Well,” said his new ally, “ we will dine together 
and arrange matters for this rencounter. I hope you 
understand the use of the weapon 

“ Not particularly,” Lovel replied. ' 

“ I am sorry for that — M’Intyre is said to be a 
marksman.” 

“ I am sorry for it also,” said Lovel, both for his 
sake and my own — I must tiien, in self-defence, take my 
aim as well as 1 can.” 

“ Well,” added Taffril, ‘‘ I will have our surgeon’s 
mate on the field — a good, clever young fellow at caulk- 
ing a shot-hole. I will let Lesley, who is an honest fel- 
low for a landsman, know, that he attends for the benefit 
of either party. Is there anything I can do for you in 
case of an accident 

“ I have but little occasion to trouble you,” said 
Lovel ; “ this small billet contains the key of my escri- 
toir, and my very brief seci*et — there is one letter in the 
escritoir, (digesting a temporary swelling of the heart as 
he spoke) which I beg the favour of you to deliver with^ 
your own hand.” 

“ I understand,” said the sailor ; “ nay, my friend, 
never be ashamed for the matter — an affectionate heart 
may overflow for an instant at the eyes, if the ship were 
clearing for action — and, depend on it, whatever your in- 
junctions are, Dan Taffril will regard them like the be- 
quest of a dying brother. But this is all stuff — we must 
get our things in fighting order, and you will dine with me 
and my little surgeon’s-mate at the Graemes’-arms, over 
the way, at four o’clock.” 

“ Agreed,” said Lovel. 

Agreed,” said Taffril and the whole affair was 
arranged. 

It was a beautiful summer evening, and the shadow 
of the solitary thorn-tree was lengthening upon the short 


214 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


green sward of the narrow valley, which was skirted by 
the woods that closed around the ruins of St. Ruth. 

Lovel and Lieutenant Tafiril, with the surgeon, came 
upon the ground with a purpose of a nature very uncon- 
genial to the soft, mild, and pacific character of the hour 
and scene. The sheep, which, during the ardent heat 
of the day, had sheltered in the breaches and hollows of 
tlie gravelly bank, or under the roots of the aged and 
stunted trees, had now spread themselves upon the face 
of the hill to enjoy their evening’s pasture, and bleated 
to each other with that melancholy sound, which at once 
gives life to a landscape and marks its solitude. TafFril 
and Lovel came on in deep conference, having, for fear 
of discovery, sent their horses back to the town by the 
Lieutenant’s servant. The opposite party had not yet 
appeared on the field. But, when they came upon the 
ground, there sat upon the roots of the old thorn, a figure, 
as vigorous in his decay as the moss-grown but strong 
and contorted boughs which served him for a canopy. 
It wa^ old Ochiltree. “ This is embarrassing enough,” 
said Lovel ; “ how shall we get rid of this old fellow 
“ Here, father Adam,” cried TafFril, who knew the 
mendicant of yore ; “ here’s half-a-crown for you — you 
must go to the Four Horse-shoes yonder — the little inn, 
you know, and inquire for a servant with blue and yellow 
livery. If he is not come, you’ll wait for him, and tell 
him we shall be with his master in about an hour’s time. 
At any rate wait there till we come back, — and — get off 
with you— come, come, weigh anchor.” 

“ I thank ye for your awmous,” said Ochiltree, pock- 
eting the piece of money ; “ but I beg your pardon, Mr 
Tafiril — I canna gang your errand e’en now.” 

“ Why not, man 9 what can hinder you 
“ I wad speak a word wi’ young Mr. Lovel.” 

“ With me T’ answered Lovel ; “ what would you 
say with me come, say on, and be brief.” 

The mendicant led him a few paces aside. “ 'Are ye 
indebted ony thing to the Laird of Monkbarns V" 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


215 


‘‘ Indebted ! — no ; not I — what of that 9 — what makes 
vou think so 

“ Ye maun ken I was at the shirra’s the day ; foi, God 
help me, I gang about a’ gates like the troubled spirit, 
and wha suld come whirling there in a post-chaise but 
Monkbarns in an unco carfuffle — now it’s no a little thing 
that will make his honour take a chaise and post-horse twa 
days rinnin’.” 

“ AVell, well ; but what is all this to me 9” 

“ Ou, ye’se heur, ye’se hear — Weel, Monkbarns is 
closeted wi’ the shirra whatever puir folk may be left 
thereout — ye needna doubt that — the gentlemen are aye 
unco civil amang themsells.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, my old friend” 

“ Ganna ye bid me gang to the deevil at ance, Mr. 
Lovel 9 it wad be mair purpose fa’ard than to speak o’ 
Heaven in that impatient gate.” 

“ But I have private business with Lieutenant TafFril, 
here.” 

“ Weel, weel, a’ in gude time,” said the beggar — “ I 
can use a little wee bit freedom wi’ Mr. Daniel Taffril — 
mony’s the peery and the tap I worked for him langsyne, 
for I was a worker in wodd as weel as a tinkler.” 

‘‘ You are either mad, Adam, or have a mind to drive 
me mad.” 

“ Nane o’ the twa,” said Edie, suddenly changing his 
manner from the protracted drawl of the mendicant to a 
brief and decided tone ; “ the shirra sent for his clerk, 
and, as the lad is rather light o’ the tongue, I fand it was 
for drawing a warrant to apprehend you — I thought it 
had been on ayh^ze warrant for debt ; for a’ body kens the 
laird likes naebody to pit his hand in his pouch — But now 
[ may hand my tongue, for I see the M’Intyre lad and Mr. 
Lesley coming up, and I guess that Monkbarns’s purpose 
was very kind, and that yours is muckle waur than it 
should be.” 

The antagonists now approached, and saluted with the 
stern civility which befitted the occasion. “ What has 
this old fellow to do here 9” said M’Intyre. 


216 


THE ANTKlUARr. 


“ I am an auld fallow,” said Edie, “ but 1 am alsa 
an auld soldier o’ your father’s, for I served wi’ him in 
the 42d.” 

“ Serve where you please, you have no title to intrude 
on us,” said M’Intyre, “ or” — and he lifted his cane in 
terrorem, though without the idea of touching the old 
man. But Ochiltree’s courage was roused by the insult. 
“ Baud down your switch, captain M’Intyre ! I am an 
auld soldier, as I said before, and I’ll take muckle frae 
your father’s son; but no a touch o’ the wand while my 
pike-stafF will haud thegither.” 

“ Well, well, I was wrong — I was wrong,” said M’In- 
tyre, “ here’s a crown for you — go your ways — what’s 
the matter now 9” 

The old man drew himself up to the full advantage of 
his uncommon height,- and in despite of his dress, which 
indeed had more of the pilgrim than the ordinary beggar, 
looked, from height, manner, and emphasis of voice and 
gesture, rather like a grey palmer, or eremite preacher, 
the ghostly counsellor of the young men who were around 
him, than the object of their charity. His speech, indeed, 
was as homely as his habit, but as bold and unceremoni- 
ous as his erect and dignified demeanour. “ WTat are 
ye come here for, young men 9” he said, addressing 
himself to the surprised audience ; ‘‘ are ye come 
amongst the most lovely works of God to break his laws 9 
Have ye left the works of man, the houses and the cities 
that are but clay and dust, like those that built them ; and 
are ye come here among the peaceful hills, and by the 
quiet waters, that will last whiles aught earthly shall en- 
dure, to destroy each other’s lives, that will have but an 
unco short time, by the course of nature, to make i.p a 
lang account at the close o’t 9 O sirs ! hae ye brothers, 
sisters, fathers, that hae tended ye, and mothers that hae 
travailed for ye, friends that hae ca’d ye like a piece o' 
tlieir ain heart 9 And is this the way ye tak to make them 
childless and brotherless and friendless 9 Ohon ! it’s 
an ill fight whar he that wins has the warst o’t. Think on’t 
bairns — I’m a puir man — but I’m an auld man too — and 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


217 


what my poverty takes awa frae the weight o’ my coun 
sel, grey hairs and a truthfu’ heart should add it twenty 
times — Gang harne, gang hame, like gude lads — the 
French will be ower to harry us ane o’ thae days, and 
ye’ll hae fighting eneugh, and maybe old Edie will hirple 
out himsell if he can get a feal-dike to lay his gun ower, 
and may live to tell you whilk o’ ye does the best where 
there’s a good cause afore ye.” 

There was something in the undaunted and indepen- 
dent manner, hardy sentiment, and manly rude elocution 
ol the old man, that had its effect upon the party, and 
particularly on the seconds, whose pride ^vas uninter- 
ested in bringing the dispute to a bloody arbitrement, and 
who, on the contrary, eagerly watched for an opportunity 
to recommend reconciliation. 

“ Upon my word, Mr. Lesley,” said Taffril, “ old Adam 
speaks like an oracle — Our friends here were very angry 
yesterday, and of course very foolish — To-day they 
sliould be cool, or at least we must be so in their behalf — 
I think the word should be forget and forgive on both 
sides, that we should all shake hands, fire these foolish 
crackers in the air, and go home to sup in a body at the 
Graeines’-arms.” 

“ I would heartily recommend it,” said Lesley ; “ for, 
amidst a great deal of heat and irritation on both sides, I 
confess myself unable to discover any rational ground ot 
quarrel.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said M’Intyre very coldly, ‘‘ all this 
should have been thought of before. In my opini<)n, 
persons that have carried this matter so far as we hav^e 
done, and who should part without carrying it any farther, 
might go to supper at the Graemes’-arms very joyously, but 
would rise the next morning with reputations as ragged 
as our friend here, who has obliged us with a rather un- 
necessary display of his oratory. I speak for myself, 
that I find myself bound to call upon you to proceed 
without more delay.” 

VOL. I. 


218 


THE ArrTKiUARY. 


‘‘ And I,” said Lovel, “ as I never desired any, have 
also to request these gentlemen to arrange preliminaries 
as last as possible.” 

“ Bairns, bairns !” cried old Ochiltree ; but, perceiv- 
ing he was no longer attended to — “ Madmen, I should 
say — but your blood be on your heads !” — And the old 
man drew off from the ground, which was now measured 
out by the seconds, and continued muttering and talking 
to himself in sullen indignation mixed with anxiety, and 
with a strong feeling of painful curiosity. Without pay- 
ing further attention to his presence or remonstrances, 
Mr. Lesley and the Lieutenant made the necessary ar- 
rangements for the duel, and it was agreed that both 
parties should fire when Mr. Lesley dropped his hand- 
kerchief. 

The fatal sign was given, and both fired almost in the 
same moment. Captain M’Intyre’s ball grazed the side 
of his opponent, but did not draw blood. That of Lovel 
was more true to the aim ; M’Intyre reeled and fell. 
Raising himself on his arm, his first exclamation was, “ It 
is nothing — it is nothing — give us the other pistols.” But 
in an instant he said in a lower tone, 1 believe I have 
enough, and what’s worse, I fear 1 deserve it. Mr. Lovel, 
or whatever your name is, fly and save yourself — Bear 
all witness I provoked this matter.” Then raising him- 
self again on his arm, he added, ‘‘ Shake hands, Lovel 
— I believe you to be a gentleman — forgive my rudeness, 
and I forgive you my death — My poor sister !” 

The surgeon came up to perform his part of the trag- 
edy, and Lovel stood gazing on the evil of which he had 
been the active, though unwilling cause, with a dizzy and 
bewildered eye. He was roused from his trance by the 
grasp of the mendicant — “ Why stand you gazing on 
your deed ‘I — What’s doomed is doomed — what’s done 
is past recalling. But awa, awa, if ye wad save your 
young blood from a shamefu’ death — 1 see the men out 
by yonder that are come ower late to part ye — but out 
and alack ! sune eneugh and ower sune to drag ye tc 
prison.” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


219 


“ lie is right — he is right,” exclaimed Taffril, “ you 
must not attempt to get on the high-road — get into the 
wood till night. My brig will be under sail by that time, 
and at three in the morning, when the tide will serve, I 
shall have the boat waiting for you at the Mussel-crag. 
Away — away, for Heaven’s sake !” 

“ O yes, fly, fly !” repeated the wounded man, his 
words faltering with convulsive sobs. 

“ Come with me,” said the mendicant, almost drag- 
ging him olf, the captain’s plan is the best — I’ll carry 
ye to a place where ye might be concealed in the mean 
lime, were they to seek ye wi’ sleuth-hounds.” 

“ Go, go,” again urged Lieutenant Taffril — “ to stay 
here is mere madness.” 

“ It was worse madness *to have come hither,” said 
Lovel, pressing his hand — “ But farewell !” and he fol- 
lowed Ochiltree into the recesses -of the wood. 


CHAPTER XXL 

The Lord Abbot had a soul 

Subtile and quick and searching^ as the firo l 
By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, 

And if in devils’ possession gold be kept, 

He brought some sure from thence — ’tis hid in caves, 

Known^ save to me, to none. 

2'lie Wonder of a Kingdoms. 

Lovel almost mechanically followed the beggar, who 
led the way with a hasty and steady pace through bush 
and bramble, avoiding the beaten path, and often turning 
to listen whether there were any sounds of pursuit behind 
them. They sometimes descended into the very bed of 
the torrent, sometimes kept a narrow and precarious path, 
that the sheep (which, with the sluttish negligence towards 
property of that sort universal in Scotland, were allowed 


220 


THE ANTKiFARY. 


to Stray in the copse) had made along the very verge oi 
its overhanging banks. From time to time Lovel had a 
glance of the path which he had traversed the day before 
in company with Sir Arthur, the Antiquary, and the young 
ladies. Dejected, embarrassed, and occupied by a thou- 
sand inquietudes, as he then was, what would he now have 
given to regain the sense of innocence which alone can 
counterbalance a thousand evils ! “ Yet, then,” such was 
his hasty and involuntary reflections, “ even then, guilt- 
less and valued by all around me, I thought myself un- 
happy. What am I now, with this young man’s blood 
upon my hands ^ — the feeling of pride which urged me 
to the deed has now deserted me, as the actual fiend 
himself is said to do those whom he has tempted to guilt.” 
Even his affection for Miss Wardour sunk for the time 
before the first pangs of remorse, and he thought he could 
iiave encountered every agony of slighted love to have 
had the conscious freedom from blood-guiltiness w^hich 
he possessed in the morning. 

These painful reflections were not interrupted by any 
conversation on the part of his guide, who threaded the 
thicket before him, now holding back the sprays to make 
his path easy, now exhorting him to make haste, now 
muttering to himself, after the custom of solitary and 
neglected old age, words which might have escaped Lov- 
el’s ear even had he listened to them, or which, appre- 
hended and retained, were too isolated to convey any 
connected meaning, — a habit which may be often observ- 
ed among people of the old man’s age and calling. 

At length, as Lovel, exhausted by his late indisposition, 
the harrowing feelings by which he was agitated, and the 
exertion necessary to keep up with his guide in a path so 
rugged, began to flag and fall tehind, two or three very 
precarious steps placed him on the front of a precipice 
overhung with bruslnvood and copse. Here a cave, as 
narrow in its entrance as a fox-earth, was indicated by 
a small fissure in the rock, .screened by the boughs of an 
aged oak, wdiich, anchored by its thick and twisted roots 
in the upper part of the cleft, flung its branches almost 


THE ANTIttUARY. 


221 


straight outward from the cliff, concealing it effect Jiallj 
from all observation. It might indeed have escaped the 
attention even of those who had stood at its very opening, 
so uninviting was the portal at which the beggar entered. 
But within, the cavern was higher and more roomy, cut 
into two separate branches, which, intersecting each other 
at right angles, formed an emblem of the cross, and indi- 
cated the abode of an anchoret of former times. There 
are many caves of the same kind in different parts of 
Scotland. I need only instance those of Gorton, near 
Roslin, in a scene well known to the admirers of romantic 
nature. 

The light within the cave was a dusky twilight at the 
entrance, which failed altogether in the inner recesses. 
“ Few folks ken o’ this place,” said the old man ; to 
the best o’ my knowledge, there’s just twa living by my- 
sell,and that’s Jingling Jock and the Lang Linker. 1 
have had mony a thought that when I faund mysell auld 
and forfairn, and no able to enjoy God’s blessed air ony 
langer, I wad drag mysell here wi’ a pickle ait-meal — 
and see, there’s a bit bonny drapping well that popples 
that self-same gait simmer and winter — and I wad e’en 
streek mysell out here, and abide my removal, like an 
auld dog that trails its useless ugsome carcass into some 
bush or bracken, no to gie living things a sconner wi’ the 
sight o’t when it’s dead — Ay, and then, when the dogs 
barked at the lone farm-stead, the gudewife wad cry. 
“ Whisht, stirra, that’ll be auld Edie,’ and the bits o' 
weans wad up, puir things, and toddle to the door, to pu’ 
in the auld Blue-gown that mends a’ their bonny-dies — 
but there wad be na’ mair word o’ Edie, I trow.” 

He then led Lovel, who followed him unresistingly, 
into one of the interior branches of the cave. “ Here,” 
lie said, is a bit turnpike-stair that gaes up to the auld 
kirk above. Some folks say this place was howkit out 
by the monks lang syne to hide their treasure in, and 
some said that tliey used to bring things into the abbey 
tliis gate by night, that they durstna sae weel hae brought 

VOL. I. 


222 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


in by the main port and in open day — And some said that 
ane o’ them turned a saint, (or aiblins wad liae had folk 
think sae,) and settled him down in this Saint Ruth’s cell, 
as the auld folks aye ca’d it, and garr’d big the stair, that 
he might gang up to the kirk when they were at the divine 
service. The Laird o’ Monkbarns wad hae a hantle to 
say about it, as he has about maist things, if he kendonly 
about the place. But whether it was made for man’s 
devices or God’s service, I have seen owxr muckle sin 
done in it in my day, and far ower muckle have I been 
partaker of — ay, even here in this dark cove. IMony a 
gudewife’s been wondering what for the red cock did 
na craw her up in the morning, when he’s been roasting, 
puir fallow, in this dark hole — And, ohon ! I wish that 
and the like o’ that had been the warst o’t ! Whiles they 
wad hae lizard the din we were making in the very bowels 
o’ the earth, when Saunders Aikwood, that was forester in 
thae days, the father o’ Ringan that now is, was gaun 
daundering about the wood at e’en to see after the Laird’s 
game — and whiles he wad hae seen a glance o’ the light 
frae the door o’ the cave, flaughtering against the hazels 
on the other bank — and then siccan stories as Saunders 
had about the worricows and gyre-carlins that haunted 
about the auld wa’s at e’en, and the lights that he had 
seen, and the cries that he had heard, when there was nae 
mortal ee open but his ain ; and eh ! as he wad thrum 
them ovver and ower to the like o’ me ayont the ingle at 
e’en, and as I wad gie the auld silly carle grane for grane, 
and tale for tale, though I ken muckle better about it than 
ever he did. Ay, ay — they were daft days thae — but 
they were a’ vanity and waur, and it’s fitting that thae wha 
hae led a light and evil life, and abused charity when 
they were young, suld aiblins come to lack it when they 
are auld.” 

While Ochiltree was thus lecounting the exploits and 
tricks of his earlier life, with a tone in which glee and 
compunction alternately predominated, his unfortunate 
auditor had sat down upon the hermit’s seat, hewn out of 
tlie solid rock, and abandoned himself to that lassitude, 


THE ANTIQ^UART. 


223 


Doth of mind and body, which generally follows a course 
of events that have agitated both. The effect of his 
late indisposition, which had much weakened his system, 
contributed to this lethargic despondency. “ The puir 
bairn,” said auld Edie, “ an he sleeps in this damp hole, 
he’ll maybe wauken nae mair, or catch some sair disease 
— it’s no the same' to him as to the like o’ us, that can 
sleep ony gate an anes our wames are fu’. Sit up, Mais- 
ter Lovel, lad — after a’s come and gane, I dare say the 
captain-lad will do wed eneugh — and, after a’, ye are no 
the first that has had this misfortune. * 1 hae seen mony 
a man killed, and helped to kill them mysell, though there 
was nae quarrel between us — and if it isna wrang to kill 
folk we have nae quarrel wi’, just because they wear 
another sort of a cockade, and speak a foreign language, 
I canna see but a man may have excuse for killing his ain 
mortal foe, that comes armed to the fair field to kill him. 
1 dinna say it’s right — God forbid — ‘or that it Isna sinfu’ 
to take away what ye canna restore, and that’s the breath 
of man, wliilk is in his nostrils — but I say it is a sin to be 
forgiven if it’s repented of. Sinfu’ men are we a’ ; but 
if ye wad believe an auld grey sinner that has seen the 
evil o’ his ways, there is as much ])romise atween the twa 
boards o’ the Testainent as wad save the w'arst o’ us, 
could we but think sae.” 

With such scraps of comfort and of divinity as he pos- 
sessed, the mendicant thus continued to solicit and compel 
the attention of Lovel, until the twilight began to fade into 
niglit. “ Now,” said Ochiltree, “ I will carry ye to a 
mair convenient place, where I hae sat mony a time to 
hear the hovvlit crying out of the ivy tod, and to see the 
moonlight come through the auld windows o’ th^ ruins. 
Tliere can be naebody come here after tliis time o’ hight ; 
and if they hae made ony search, thae blackguard shirra’- 
officers and constables, it will hae been ower lang syne. 
Odd, they are as great cowards as ither folk, wi’ a’ their 
warrants and king’s keys;^^I hae gi’en some o’ them a 
gliff in my day, when they were coming rather ower near 
ine — But, lauded be grace for it, they canna stir me now 


224 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


for ony waur than an auld man and a beggar, and my 
badge is a glide protection ; and then Miss Isabella War- 
dour is a tower o’ strength, ye ken — (Lovel sighed)— 
Aweel, dinna be cast down — bowls may a’ row right yet 
— gie the lassie time to ken her mind — she’s the wale o’ 
the country for beauty, and a gude friend o’ mine — I 
gang by the bridewell as safe ashy the kirk on a Sabbath 
— deil ony o’ them daur hurt a hair o’ auld Edie’s head 
now — 1 keep the crown o’ the causey when I gae to the 
borough, and rub shouthers wi’ a baillie wi’ as little con- 
cern as an he were a brock.” 

While the mendicant spoke thus, he was busied in re^ 
moving a few loose stones in one angle of the cave which 
obscured the entrance of the staircase of which he had 
spoken, and led the way into it, followed by Lovel in pas- 
sive silence. 

“ The air’s free eneugh,” said the old man ; “ the 
monks took care o’ that, for they werena a lang-breathed 
generation, I reckon — they hae contrived queer tirlie-wir- 
lie holes, that gang out to the open air, and'keep the stair 
as caller as a kail-blade.” 

Lovel accordingly found the staircase well aired, and, 
though narrow, it was neither ruinous nor long, but speed- 
ily admitted them into a narrow gallery contrived to run 
within the side wall of the chancel, from which it receiv- 
ed air and light, through apertures ingeniously hidden 
amid the florid ornaments of the Gothic architecture. 

“ This secret passage anes gaed round great part o* 
the bigging,” said the beggar, ‘‘ and through the wa’ o’ 
the place I’ve heard Monkbarns ca’ the Refractory, 
(meaning probably the Refectory^) and so awa to the 
Prior’^in house. It’s like he could use it to listen what 
the monks were saying at meal-time, and then he might 
come ben here and see that they were busy skreighing 
awa wi’ the psalms doun below there — and then, when 
he saw a’ was right and tight, he might step awa and 
fetch in a bonny lass at the cove yonder, for they were 
queer hands the monks, unless mony lees is made on 
them. But our folk were at great pains lang syne to big 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


225 


up the passage in some parts, and pu’ it down in others, 
for fear o’ some uncanny body getting into it, and finding 
their way doun to the cove — it wad hae been a fashious 
job that — by my certie, some o’ our necks wad hae been 
ewking.” 

They now came to a place where tfie gallery was 
enlarged into a small circle, sufficient to contain a stone 
seat. A niche, constructed exactly before it, projected 
forward into the chancel, and as its sides were latticed, as 
it were, with perforated stone work, it commanded a full 
view of the chancel in every direction, and was probably 
constructed, as Edie intimated, to be a convenient watch- 
tower from which the superior priest, himself unseen, 
might watch the behaviour of his monks, and ascertain, 
by personal inspection, their punctual attendance upon 
those rites of devotion which his rank exempted him from 
sharing with them. As this niche made one of a regular 
series which stretched pjong the wall of the chancel, and 
jn no respect differed from the rest when seen from be- 
low, the secret station, screened as it was by the stone 
figure of St. Michael and the dragon and the open tracery 
around the niche, was completely hid from observa- 
tion. The private passage, confined to its pristine 
breadth, had originally continued beyond this seat ; but 
the jealous precautions of the vagabonds who frequented 
the cave of St. Ruth had caused them to build it careful- 
ly up with hewn stones from the ruin. 

“ We shall be better here” — said Edie, seating himself 
on the stone bench, and stretching the lappet of his blue 
gown upon the spot, when he motioned Lovel to sit down 
beside him — “We shall be better here than doun below — 
the air’s free and mild, and the savour of the wallflowers, 
and siccan shrubs as grow on thae ruined wa’s, is far mair 
refreshing than the damp smell doun below yonder. 
They smell sweetest by night-time, thae flowers, and 
they’re maist aye seen about ruined buildings — now 
Maister Lovel, can ony o’ your scholars gie a gude rea 
•on frf that 9” ’ 

Lovel replied in the negative. 


226 


THE ANTKiUAIir. 


“ 1 am thinking,” resumed the beggar, ‘‘ tliat ihey^U 
be like mony folks’ glide gifts, that often seem maist gra- 
cious in adversity — or maybe it’s a parable, to teach us 
no to slight them that are in the darkness of sin and the 
decay of tribulation, since God sends odours to refresh the 
mirkest hour, and flowers and pleasant bushes to clothe 
the ruined buildings. And now I wad like a wise man 
to tell me whether Heaven is maist pleased wi’ the sight 
we are looking upon — thae pleasant and quiet lang streaks 
o’ moonlight that are lying sae still on the floor of this 
auld kirk, and glancing througli the great pillars and stan- 
chions o’ the carved windows, and just dancing like on 
the leaves o’ the dark ivy as the breath o’ wind shakes it 
— I wonder whether this is mair pleasing to Heaven than 
when it was lighted up wi’ lamps, and candles nae doubt, 
and roughlesj^^and wi’ the mirth, and the frankincent that 
they speak of in the Holy Scripture, and wi’ organs as- 
suredly, and men and women singers, and sackbuts, and 
dulcimers, and a’ instruments o’ music — 1 wonder if that 
was acceptable, or whether it is of these grand parafle 
o’ ceremonies that holy writ says ‘ it is an abomination to 
me’ — I am thinking, Maister Lovel, if twa puir contrite 
spirits like yours and mine fand grace to make our 
petition ” 

Here Lovel laid l:ys hand eagerly on the mendicant’s 
arm, saying, “ Hush ! I heard some one speak.” 

“ I am dull o’ hearing,” answered Edie in a whisper, 
‘ but we’re surely safe here — where was the sound ?” 

Lovel pointed to the door of the chancel, which, highly 
ornamented, occupied the west end of the building, sur- 
mounted by the carved window, which let in a flood of 
moonlight over it. 

“ They can be nane o’ our folk,” said Edie in the same 
low and cautious tone ; there’s but twa o’ them kens o’ 
the place, and they’re mony a mile off, if they are still 
bouiif nil their weary pilgrimage. I’ll never think it’s the 
officers here at this time o’ night. I am nae believer in 
auld wives’ stories about ghaists, though this is gey like a 


THE ANTK^UAUY. 


227 


place for lliem — But mortal, or of the other world here 
they come!— twa men and a light.” 

And in very truth, while the mendicant spoke, two hu- 
man figures darkened with their shadows the entrance of 
the chancel which had before opened to tlie moonlight 
meadow beyond, and the small lantern which one of them 
displayed, glimmered pale in the clear and strong beams 
of the moon, as the evening star does among the lights 
of the departing day. The first and most obvious idea 
was, that, despite the asseverations of Edie Ochiltree, 
the persons who approached the ruins at an hour so un- 
common must be the officers of justice in quest of Lovel, 
But no part of their conduct confirmed the suspicion. 
A touch and a whisper from the old man warned Lovel 
that his best course was to remain quiet, and watch their 
motions from their present place of concealment. Should 
anything appear to render retreat necessary, they had 
behind them the private staircase and cavern, by means 
of which they could escape into the wood long before any 
danger of close pursuit. They kept themselves, there- 
fore, as still as possible, and observed with eager and 
anxious cliriosity, every accent and motion of these noc- 
turnal wanderers. 

After conversing together some time in whispers, the 
two figures advanced into the middle of the chancel, and 
a voice, which Lovel at once recognized, from its tone 
and dialect, to be that of Dousterswivel, pronounced in a 
louder but still a smothered tone, “ Indeed, mine goot sir, 
dere cannot be one finer hour nor season for dis great pur- 
pose. You shall see, mine goot sir, dat it is all one bib- 
ble-babble dat Mr. Oldenbuck says, and dat he knows no 
more of what he speaks than one little shild. Mine soul 1 
he expects to get as rich as one Jew for his poor dirty one 
hundred pounds, which I care no more about, by mine 
honest wort, than I care for an hundred stivers. But to 
you, my most munificent and reverend patron, I will 
show all de secrets dat art can show — aye, de secret ol 
de gr>at Pymander.” 


228 


THE ANTIQ^UART. 


“ Thai other ane,” whispered Edie, maun he, ac- 
cording to a’ likelihood, Sir Arthur Wardour. I ken 
naehody but himsell wad come here at this time at e’en 
wi’ that German blackguard — Ane wad think he’s be- 
witched him — he gars him e’en trow that chalk is cheese 
— let’s see what they can be doing.” 

This interruption, and the low tone in which Sir Arthur 
spoke, made Lovel lose all Sir Arthur’s answer to the 
adept, excepting the three last emphatic words, Very 
great expense,” — to which Dousterswivel at once replied, 
— “ Expenses — to be sure — dere must be de great ex- 
penses — you do not expect to reap before you do sow 
de seed — de expense is de seed — de riches and de mine 
of goot metal, and now de great big chests of plate, they 
are de crop — vary goot crop too, on mine wort. Now, 
Sir Arthur, you have sowed this night one little seed of 
ten guineas like one-pinch of snuff, or so big — and if you 
do not reap de great harvest — dat is de great harvest for 
de little pinch of seed, for it must be proportions you must 
know — then never call one honest man, Herman Dous- 
terswivel. Now you see, mine patron — for I will not con- 
ceal mine secret from you at all — you see this little plate 
of silver — you know de moon measureth de whole zodiac 
in de space of twenty-eight day — every shild knows dat — 
well, I take a silver plate when she is in her fifteenth 
mansion, which mansion is in de head of Libra, and 1 
engrave upon one side de worts, <S5ctlhatfiCf)rnTOt5 
^c!jattac!)au — dat is, de Emblems of de Intelligence 
of de moon — and I make his picture like a flying serpent 
with a turkey-cock’s head — vary well — Then upon this 
side I make de table of de moon, which is a square of 
nine, multiplied into itself, with eighty-one numbers on 
every side, and diameter nine — dere it is done very pro- 
per — Now I will make dis avail me at de change of everv 
quarter-moon dat I shall find by de same proportions 
of expenses I lay out in de suffumigations, as nine, to de 
product of nine multiplied into itself — But 1 shall find no 
more to-night, as may be two or dree times nine, besause 
dere is a thwarting power in de house of ascendancy.” 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


229 


“ But Dousterswivel,” said the simple Baronet, “ does 
not this look like magic 9 — I am a true though unworthy 
son of the episcopal church, and I will have nothing to 
do with the foul fiend.” 

“ Bah ! bah ! — not a bit magic in it at all — not a bit 
— It is all founded on de planetary influence and de sym- 
path}" and force of numbers — I will show you much finer 
dan dis — I do not say dere is not de spirit in it, because 
of de sufFumigation 5 but, if you are not afraid, he shall 
not be invisible.” 

I have no curiosity to see him at all,” said the Bar- 
onet, whose courage seemed, from a certain quaver in 
his accent, to have taken a fit of the ague. 

“ Ddt is great pity,” said Dousterswivel ; “ I should 
have liked to show you de spirit dat guard dis treasure 
like one fierce watch-dog — but I know how to manage 
him — you would not care to see him 9” 

“ Not at all,” answered the Baronet, in a tone of 
feigned indifference ; “ I think we have but little time.” 

“ You shall pardon me, my patron, it is not yet twelve, 
and twelve precise is just our planetary hours ; and I 
could show you de spirit vary well, in de meanwhile, just 
for pleasure. You see I would draw a pentagon within 
a circle, wdiich is no trouble at all, and make my suffumi- 
gation within it, and dere we would be like in one strong 
castle, and you would hold de sword while I did say de 
needful worts — Den you should see de solid wall open like 
de gate r of ane city, and den — let me see — ay — you 
should see first one stag pursued by three black grey- 
hounds, and they should pull him down as they do at de 
elector’s great hunting-match — and then one ugly, little, 
nasty black negro should appear and take de stag from 
them — and paf — all should be gone — then you should 
hear horns winded dat all de ruins should ring — mine 
wort, they should play fine hunting piece, as goot as him 
you call’d Fischer with liis oboi — vary well — den comes 
one herald, as we call Eriihold, winding his horn — and 
th n come de great Peolphan, called the Mighty Hunter 

II VOL. 1. 


230 


TilE ANTIQ,UARY. 


of de North, 'mounted on hims black steed — but yon 
would not care to see all this 

“ Why, I am not afraid,” answered the poor Baronet, 
— u if— that is — does anything — any great mischiefs, 
happen on such occasions?” 

“ Bah — mischiefs ? no ! sometimes if de circle be 
no quite just, or de beholder be de frightened coward, 
and not hold de sword firm and straight towards him, de 
great hunter will take his advantage and drag him exor- 
cist out of de circle, and throttle him. Dat does 
happens.” 

“ Well then, Dousterswivel, with every confidence in 
my courage and your skill, we will dispense with this 
apparition, and go on to the business of the night.” 

“ With all mine heart — it is just one thing to me — and 
now it is de time — hold you de sword till 1 kindle de little 
what you call chip.” 

Dousterswivel accordingly set fire to a little pile of 
chips, touched and prepared with some bituminous sub- 
stance to make them .burn fiercely ; and when the flame 
was at the highest, and lightened, with its short-lived 
glare, all the ruins around, the German flung in a handful 
of perfumes which produced a strong and pungent odour. 
The exorcist and his pupil both were so much affected 
as to cough and sneeze heartily ; and, as the vapour 
floated around the pillars of the building, and penetrated 
every cievice, it produced the same effect on the beggar 
and Lovel. 

“ Was that an echo 9” said the Baronet, astonished 
at the sternutation which resounded from above ; “or” 
— drawing close to the adept, “ can it be the spirit you 
alkecl of, ridiculing our attempt upon his hidden trea- 
sures 9” 

“ N — n — no,” muttered the German, who began to 
partake of his pupil’s terrors, “ I hope not.” 

Here a violent explosion of sneezing, which the men- 
dicant was unable to suppress, and which could not be 
considered by any means as the dying fall of an echo, ac- 
companied by a grunting half-smothered cough, confound 


THE ANT1Q,UA11Y. 


231 


ed the two treasure-seekers. “ Lord have mercy on 
us !” said the Baronet. 

‘‘ Alle guten geisteim, lohen den Herrn /” ejaculated 
the terrified adept. “ I was begun to think,” he con- 
tinued, after a moment’s silence, “ that this would be de 
bestermost done in de daylight — we was bestermost to go 
away just now.” 

“ You juggling villain,” said the Baronet, in whom 
these expressions awakened a suspicion that overcame 
his terrors, connected as it was with the sense of despera- 
tion arising from the apprehension of impending ruin — • 
“ you juggling mountebank, this is some legerdemain 
trick of yours to get off from the performance of your 
promise, as you have so often done before. But, be- 
fore Heaven, I will this night know what I have trusted 
to when I suffered you to fool me on to my ruin ! — Go on 
then — come fairy, come fiend, you shall show me that 
treasure, or confess yourself a knave and an impostor, or, 
by the faith of a desperate and ruined man. I’ll send you 
where you shall see spirits enough.” 

The treasure-finder, trembling between his terror for 
the supernatural beings by whom he supposed himself to 
be surrounded, and for his life, which seemed to be at 
the mercy of a desperate man, could only bring out, 
“ Mine patron, this is not the allerbestmost usage. Con- 
sider, mine honoured sir, that de spirits” 

Here,Edie, who began to enter into the humour of tlie 
scene, uttered an extraordinary howl, being an exaltation 
and a prolongation of the most deplorable whine in which 
he was accustomed to solicit charity — Dousterswivel 
flung himself on his knees, “ Dear Sir Arthurs, let us go, 
or let me go !” 

“ No, you cheating scoundrel,” said the knight, un- 
sheathing the sword 'which he had brought for the pur- 
poses of the exorcism, “that shiftshall not serve you — 
Monkbarns warned me long since of your juggling pranks 
— I will see this treasure before yon leave this place, or I 
will have you confess yourself an impostor, or, by Heav 


232 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


en, I’ll run this sword through you, though all the spirits 
of the dead should rise around us !” 

“ For de lofe of Heaven be patient, mine honoured 
patron, and you shall hafe all de treasure as I knows ol 
— yes — you shall indeed — but do not speak about de spir- 
its — it makes dem angry.” 

Edie Ochiltree here prepared himself to throw in 
another groan, but was restrained by Lovel, who began 
to take a more serious interest, as he observed the earnest 
and almost desperate demeanour of Sir Arthur. Dous- 
terswivel, having at once before his eyes the fear of the 
foul fiend and the violence of Sir Arthur, played his part 
of a conjuror extremely ill, hesitating to assume the de- 
gree of confidence necessary to deceive the latter, lest it 
should give offence to the invisible cause of his alarm. 
However, after rolling his eyes, muttering and sputtering 
German exorcisms, with contortions of his face and per- 
son, rather flowing from the impulse of terror than of 
meditated fraud, he at length proceeded to a corner of the 
building where a flat stone lay upon the ground, bearing 
upon its surface the effigy of an armed warrior in a re- 
cumbent posture, carved in bas-relief. He muttered to 
Sir Arthur, “ Mine patrons — it is here — Got safe us all !” 

Sir Arthur, who, after the first moment of his supersti- 
tious fear was over, seemed to have bent up all his facul- 
ties to the pitch of resolution necessary to carry on the 
adventure, lent the adept his assistance to turn over the 
stone, which, by means of a lever that the adept had pro- 
vided, their joint force with difficulty effected. No su- 
pernatural light burst forth from below to indicate the 
subterranean treasury, nor was there any apparition of 
spirits, earthly or infernal. But when Dousterswivel had, 
with great trepidation, struck a few strokes with a mattock, 
and as hastily thrown out a shovelful 'br two of earth, (for 
they came provided with the tools necessary for digging,) 
something was heard to ring like the sound of a falling 
oiece of metal, and Dousterswivel, hastily catching up 
the substance which produced it, and which his shovel had 
thrown out along with the earth, exclaimed, “ On mine 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


2o3 


dear wort, mine patrons, dis is all — it is indeed — I mean 
all we can do to-night,” — and he gazed round him with a 
cowering and fearful glance, as if to see from what corner 
the avenger of his imposture was to start forth. 

“ Let me see it,” said Sir Arthur ; and then repeated 
still more sternly, ‘‘ I will be satisfied — I will judge by 
mine own eyes.” He accordingly held the object to the 
light of the lantern. It was a small case, or casket — for 
Lovel could not at the distance exactly discern its shape, 
which, from the Baronet’s exclamation as he opened it, 
he concluded was filled with coin. “ Ay,” said the 
Baronet, ‘‘ this is being indeed in good luck ! and if it 
omens proportional success upon a larger venture, the 
venture shall be made. That six hundred of Goldie- 
word’s, added to the other incumbent claims, must have 
been ruin indeed. If you think we can parry it by re- 
peating this experiment — suppose when the moon next 
changes, — I will hazard the necessary advance, come by 
it how I may.” 

“ O mine goot patrons, do not speak about all dat,” said 
Dousterswivel, “ as just now, but help me to put de 
shtone to de rights, and let us begone our own ways.” 
And accordingly, so soon as the stone was replaced, he 
hurried Sir Arthur, who was now resigned once more to 
his guidance, away from a spot, where the German’s guilty 
conscience and superstitious fears represented goblins as 
lurking behind each pillar with the purpose of punishing 
his treachery. 

“ Saw ony body e’er the like o’ that !” said Edie, 
when they had disappeared like shadows through the 
gate by which they had entered — Saw ony creature 
living e’er the like o’ that ! — But what can we do for that 
puir doited deevil of a knight-baronet 9 — Odd, he showed 
muckle mair spunk, too, than I thought had been in him 
— I thought he wad hae sent cauld iron through the vag- 
abond — Sir Arthur wasna half sae bauld at Bessie’s-apron 
yon night — but then his blood was up even now, and thal 
makes an unco difference. I hae seen mony a man wad hae 

VOL. I. 


234 


THE ANTKiUAxlY. 


felled another an anger him, that wadna muckle hae 
liked a clink against Crumraie’s-horn yon time. But 
what’s to be done 9” 

“ I suppose,” said Lovel, “ his faith in this fellow is 
entirely restored by this deception, which, unquestionably, 
he had arranged beforehand.” 

“ What ! the siller 9 — Ay, ay trust him for that 

— they that hide ken best where to find — he wants to 
wile him out o’ his last guinea, and then escape to his 
aiii country, the landlouper. I wad likeit weel just to 
hae come in at the clipping-time, and gi’en him a lounder 
wi’ my pike-stafF ; he wad hae ta’en it for a benison frae 
some o’ the auld dead abbots — But it’s best no to be rash 
— sticking disna gang by strength, but by the guiding o’ 
the gully — I’se be upsides wi’ him ae day.” 

“ What if you should inform Mr. Oldbuck?” said Lovel. 

“ Ou, I dinna ken — Monkbarns and Sir Arthur are 
like, and yet they’re no like neither — Monkbarns has 
whiles influence wi’ him, and whiles Sir Arthur cares as 
little about him as about the like o’ me. Monkbarns is 
no that ower wise himsell in some things — he wad believe 
a bodle to be an auld Roman coin, as he ca’s it, or a ditch 
to be a camp, upon ony leasing that idle folk made about 
it. I hae garr’d him trow mony a queer tale mysell, gude 
forgie me. But wi’ a’ that, he has unco little sympathy 
wi’ ither folks ; and he’s snell and dure eneugh in casting 
up their nonsense to them, as if he had nane o’ his ain. 
He’ll listen the hale day, an ye’ll tell him about tales o’ 
Wallace, and Blind Harry, and Davie Lindsay, but ye 
maunna speak to him about ghaists or fairies, or spirits 
walking the earth, or the like o’ that — he had amaist 
flung auld Caxon out o’ the window, (and he might just 
as weel hae flung awa his best wig after him) for threep* 
ing hii had seen a ghaist at the Humlock-knowe. Now, 
if he was taking it up in this way, he wad set up the tother’s 
birse, and maybe do mair ill nor gude — he’s done that 
twice or thrice about thae mine-warks — ye wad thought 
Sir Arthur had a pleasure in gaun on wi’ them the deeper, 
the mair he was warn’d against it by Monkbarns.’* 


TUB ANTI(J,UAUY. 


235 


‘‘ What say you then,” said Lovel, to letting Miss 
VVardoiir know the circumstance V’ 

“ Oil, puir thing, how could she stop her father doing 
his pleasure 9 — and, besides, what wad it help 9 — There’s 
a sough in the country about that six hundred pounds, 
and there’s a writer chieid in Edinburgh has been driving 
the spur-rowels o’ the law up to the head into Sir Ar- 
thur’s sides to gar him pay it, and if he canna, he maun 
gang to jail or flee the country. He’s like a desperate 
man, and just catches at this chance as a’ he has left, 
to escape utter perdition ; so what signifies plaguing the 
puir lassie about what canna be helped 9 — And besides, 
to say the truth, I wadna like to tell the secret o’ this 
place. It’s unco convenient, ye see yoursell, to hae a 
hiding-hole o’ ane’s ain, and though I be out o’ the line o’ 
needing ane e’en now, and trust in the power o’ grace that 
I’ll ne’er do ony thing to need ane again, yet naebody 
kens what temptation ane may be gi’en ower to — and, to 
be brief, I downa bide the thought of ony body kenning 
about the place — they say, keep a thing seven year, and 
ye’ll aye find a use for’t — and maybe I may need the cove 
either for mysell, or for some ither body.” 

This argument, in which Edie Ochiltree, notwithstand- 
ing his scraps of morality and of divinity, seemed to take, 
perhaps from old habit, a personal interest, could not be 
handsomely controverted by Lovel, who was at that mo- 
ment reaping the benefit of the secret of which the old 
man appeared to be so jealous. 

This incident, however, was of great service to Lovel, 
as diverting his mind from the unhappy occurrence of 
the evening, and considerably rousing the energies which 
had been stupified by the first view of his calamity. He 
reflected, that it by no means necessarily followed that a 
dangerous wound must be a fatal one — that he had been 
hurried from the spot even before the surgeon had ex- 
pressed any opinion of Captain IM’Intyre’s situation — and 
that he had duties on earth to perform, even should the 
very worst be true, which, if they could not restore his 
peace of mind or sense of innocence, would furnish a 


236 


Tin: ANTKiUAllT. 


motive for enduring existence, and at the same time ren ■ 
der it a course of active benevolence. 

Such were Level’s feelings when the hour arrived 
when, according to Edie’s calculation, who, by some train 
or process of his own in observing the heavenly bodies, 
stood independent of the assistance of a watch or time- 
keeper, it was fitting they should leave their hiding-place, 
and betake themselves to the sea-shore, in order to meet 
Lieutenant TafFril’s boat according to appointment. 

They retreated by the same passage which had admit- 
ted them to the prior’s secret seat of observation, and 
when they issued from the grotto into the wood, the 
birds, which began to chirp, and even to sing, announced 
that the dawn was advanced. This was confirmed by the 
light and amber clouds that appeared over the sea as soon 
as their exit from the copse permitted them to view the 
horizon. Morning, said to be friendly to the muses, has 
probably obtained this character from its effect upon the 
fancy and feelings of mankind. Even to those who, 
like Lovel, have spent a sleepless and anxious night, the 
breeze of the dawn brings strength and quickening both 
of mind and body. It was therefore, with renewed 
health and vigour that Lovel, guided by the trusty men- 
dicant, brushed away the dew as he traversed the downs 
which divided the Den of St. Ruth, as the woods sur- 
rounding the ruins were popularly called, from the sea- 
shore. 

The first level beam of the sun, as his brilliant disk 
began to emerge from the ocean, shot full upon the little 
gun-brig which was lying-to in the offing — close to the 
shore the boat was already waiting, Taffril himself, with 
his naval cloak wrapped about him, seated in the stern. 
He jumped ashore when he saw the mendicant and 
Lovel approach, and, shaking the latter heartily by the 
hand, begged him not to be cast down. “ M ’Intyre’s 
wound,” he said, “ was doubtful, but far from desperate.” 
His attention had got Lovel’s baggage privately sent on 
board the brig ; and,” he said, “ he trusted that, if 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


337 


Lovel chose to stay with the vessel, the penally of a short 
cruise would be the only disagreeable consequence of 
his rencontre. As for himself, his time and motions were 
a good deal at his own disposal,” he said, “ excepting the 
necessary obligation of remaining on his station.” 

“ We will talk of our farther motions,” said Lovel, 
‘‘ as we go on board.” 

Then turning to Edie, he endeavoured to put money 
‘nto his hahd. “ I think,” said Edie, as he tendered it 
back again, “ the hale folk here have either gane daft, 
or they hae made a vow to ruin my trade, as they say 
ower muckle water drowns the miller. I hae had mair 
gowd offered me within this twa or three weeks than I 
ever saw in my life afore. Keep the siller, lad, ye’ll hae 
need o’tjFse warrant ye, and I hae nane — my claes is 
nae great things, and I get a blue-gown every year, and 
as mony siller-groats as the king, God bless him, is years 
auld — you and I serve the same master, ye ken Captain 
Taffril — there’s rigging provided for — and my meat and 
drink I get for the asking in my rounds, or, at an orra time, 
I can gang a day without it, for I make it a rule never to 
pay for nane — So that a’ the siller I need is just to buy 
tobacco and sneeshin, and maybe a dram at a time in a 
cauld day, though I am nae dram-drinker to be a gaber- 
lunzie — Saetakeback your gowd, and justgie me a lily- 
white shilling.” 

Upon these whims, which he imagined intimately con- 
nected with the honour of his vagabond profession, Edie 
was flint and adamant, not to be moved by rhetoric or 
entreaty ; and therefore Lovel was under the necessity 
of again pocketing his intended bounty, and taking a 
friendly leave of the mendicant by shaking him by the 
hand, and assuring him of his cordial gratitude for the 
very important services which he had rendered him, re- 
commending at the same time, secrecy, as to what they 
had that night witnessed. “ Ye needna doubt that,” said 
Ochiltree ; “ I never tell’d tales out o’ yon cove in my 
life, though mony a queer thing I hae seen in’t.” 


238 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


The boat now put off. The old man remained look- 
ing after it as it made rapidly towards the brig under the 
impulse of six stout rowers, and Lovel beheld him again 
wave his blue bonnet as a token of farewell ere he turned 
from his fixed posture, and began to move slowly along 
the sandsj as if resuming his customary perambulations. 


NOTES TO THE ANTIQUARY 


1. Paffe 31, This bibliomaniacal anecdote is literally true j and David 
Wilson, the author need not tell his brethren of the Roxburghe and Banna* 
lyne Clubs, was a real personage. 

2. Page 33. Of this thrice and four times rare broadside, the author pos- 
sesses an exemplar. 

3. Page 37. A bonnet-laird signifies a petty proprietor, wearing the 
dress, along with the habits, of a yeoman. 

4. Page 61. The reader will understand that this refers to the reign of 
our late Gracious Sovereign, George the Third. 

5. Page 97. The legend of Mrs. Grizel Oldbuck was partly taken from 

an extraordinary story wnich happened about seventy years since, in the 
South of Scotland, so peculiar in its circumstances, that it merits being men- 
tioned in this place. Mr. R d of Rowland, a gentleman of landed prop- 

erty in the vale of Gala, was prosecuted for a very considerable sum, the ac* 
cumulated arrears of teind (or tithe) for which he was said to be indebted to 

a noble family, the titulars (lay impropriators of the tithes.) Mr. R d 

was strongly impressed with the belief that his father had, by a form of pro- 
cess peculiar to the law of Scotland, purchased these lands from the titular, 
and therefore that the present prosecution was groundless. But, after an in- 
dustrious search among his father's papers, an investigation of the public 
records, and a careful inquiry among all persons who had transacted law 
business for his father, no evidence could be recovered to support his defence. 
The period was now near at hand when he conceived the loss of his lawsuit 
to be inevitable, and he had formed his detei mination to ride to Edinburgh 
next day, and make the best bargain he could in the way of compromise. He 
went to bed with this resolution, and, with all the circumstances of the case 
floating upon his mind, had a dream to the following purpose. His father, 
who had been many years dead, appeared to him, he thought, and asked him 
why he was disturbed in his mind. In dreams men afe not surprised at suc'^ 

apparitions. Mr. R d thought that he informed his father of the cause 

of his distress, adding that the payment of a considerable sum of money was 
the more unpleasant to him, because he had a strong consciousness that it 
was not due, though he was unable to recover any evidence in support of his 
belief. “ "V ju are right, my son,” replied the paternal shade j I did ac- 
quire right to these teinds, for payment of whicn you are now prosecuted. 
The papers relating to the transaction are in the hands of Mr. — — , a writer 
(or attorney), who is now retired from professional business, and resides at 
inveresk, near Edinburgl.. He was a person whom 1 employed on that oc- 


240 


NOTES TO THE ANTiq,UARY. 


casion for a particular reason, but who never on any other occasion transact 
ed business on my account. It is very possible,” pursued the vision, “ that 

Mr. may have forgotten a matter which is now of a very old date ; but 

you may calf it to his recollection by this token, that when 1 came to pay his 
account, there was difficulty in getting change for a Portugal piece of gold, 
and that we were forced to drink out the balance at a tavern.” 

Mr. R d awaked in the morning with all the words of the vision im- 

f rinted on his mind, and thought it worth while to ride across the country to 
nvercsk, instead of going straight to Edinburgh. When he came there he 
waited on the gentleman mentioned in the dream, a very old man ; without 
sa^dng anything of the vision, he inquired whether he remembered having 
conducted such a matter for his deceased father. The old gentleman could 
not at first bring the circumstance to his recollection, but on mention of the 
Portugal piece of gold, the whole returned upon his memory 5 he made an 

immeffiate search mrthe papers, and recovered them, — so that Mr. R d 

carried to Edinburgh the documents necessary to gain the cause which he 
was on the verge of losing. 

The author has often heard this story told b}' persons who had the best ac- 
cess to know the facts, who were not likely themselves to be deceived, and 
were certainly incapable of deception. He cannot therefore refuse to give it 
credit, however extraordinary the circumstances may appear. The circum- 
stantial character of the information given in the dream, takes it out of the 
general class of impressions of the kind which are occasioned by the fortuit- 
ous coincidence of actual events with our sleeping thoughts. On the other 
hand, few will suppose that the laws of nature were suspended, and a special 
communication from the dead to the living permitted, for the purpose of sav- 
ing Mr R. d a certain number of hundred pounds. The author’s theory 

is, that the dream was only the recapitulation of information which Mr. 

R d had really received from Iiis father while in life, but which at first 

he merely recalled as a general impression that the claim was settled. It is 
not uncommon for persons to recover, during sleep, the thread of ideas which 
they have lost during their waking hours 

It may be added, that this remarkabie circumstance was attended with 

bad consequences to Mr. R d j whose health and spirits were after 

wards impaired by the attention which he thought himself obliged to pay to 
the visions of the night. 

6. Page 131. Probably Dr. Hutton, the celebrated geologist. 

7. Page 151. A sort of tally generally used by bakers of the olden time 
In settling with their customers. Each family had its own nick-stick, and for 
each loat as delivered a notch was made on the stick. Accounts in Ex- 
chequer, kept by the same kind of check, may have occasioned the Antiqua- 
ry’s partiality. In Prior’s time the English bakers had the same sort of 
reckoning. 

Have you not seen a baker’s maid 
Between two equal panniers sway’d ? 

Her tallies useless lie and idle. 

If placed exactly in the middle. 

8. Page I83.,^.jThe outline of this story is taken from the Germain, though 
the author is at present unable to say in which of the various collections of 
the popular legends in that language, the original is to be found. 

9. Page 184. The shadow of the person who sees the phantom, being 
reflected upon a cloud of mist, like the image of the magic lantern upon a 
white sheet, is supposed to have formed the apparition. 


NOTES TO THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


241 


10. Page 223. The king’s keys are, in law phrase, the ctovv-hars ard 
hammers used to force doors and locks, in execution of the king’s warrant. 

H. Page 226. Links, or torches. 

12. Page 230. A g^eat deal of stuff to the same purpose with that plac- 
ed in the mouth of the German adept, may be found in Reginald .Scot’s Dis- 
covery of Witchcraft. Third Edition, folio, London, 1665. 'I'he appendix 
is entitled, An Excellent Discourse of the Nature and Substance of Devils 
and Spirits, in two Books j the First by the aforesaid author, (Reginald Scot) 
the Second now added in this Third Edition as succedaneous to the former, 
and conducing to the completing of the whole work.” This Second Book, 
thouga stated as succedaneous to the first, is, in fact, entirely at variance 
with it ; for the work of Reginald Scot is a compilation of the absurd and 
superstitious ideas concerning witches so generally entertained at the time, 
and the pretended conclusion is a serious treatise on the various means ol 
conjuring astral spirits. 

VOL. I. 


IfiND OF VOLUME 1. 


4 


THE ANTICtUAUY 


I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent ; 
Wisdom and cunning had their sliares of him ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, 

And pleased again by toys whic-Ji childlood please ; 
As — book of fables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, 

Or the rare melody of some old ditty, 

That first was sung to please King Pepin’s cratHe. 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

II. 


PARKER’S EDITION, 

HBVISED AND CORRECTED, WITH A GENERAL PREFACE, AN 
INTRODUCTION TO EACH NOVEL, AND NOTES, 
HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE, BV 


THE AUTHOR 








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THE ANTIQUARY. 


CHAPTER I. 

Wiser Raymond, as in liis closet pent, 

Laughs at such danger and adventurement. 
When half his lands are spent in golden smoke. 
And now his second hopeful glasseisbroke ; 

But yet, if haply his third furnace hold, 
Devoteth all his pots and pans to gold.* 


About a week after the adventures commemorated in 
our last chapter, Mr. Oldbuck, descending to his break- 
fast-parlour, found that his womankind were not upon 
duty, his toast not made, and the silver jug, which wont 
to receive his libations of mum, not duly aired for its 
reception. 

“ This confounded hot-brained boy,” he said to him- 
self, ‘‘ now that he begins to get out of danger, I can 
tolerate this life no longer — All goes to sixes and sevens 
— an universal saturnalia seems to be proclaimed in my 

peaceful and orderly family. 1 ask for my sister — no 

answer — I call, I shout — I invoke my inmates by more 
names than the Romans gave to their deities — At length, 
Jenny, whose shrill voice I have heard this half hour 
lilting in the tartarian regions of the kitchen, condescends 
to hear me and reply, but without coming up stairs, so 
the conversation must be contiiiued at the top of my 
lungs.” — Here he again began to hollow aloud, Jenny, 
where’s Miss Oldbuck 9” 

Miss Grizzy’s in the captain’s room.” 


1 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


“ Umph, I thought so — and where’s my niece 9” 

‘‘ Miss Mary’s making the captain’s tea.” 

“ Umph, 1 supposed as much again — and where’s 
Caxon 9” 

“ Awa to the town about the captain’s fowling-gun 
and his setting-dog.” 

And who the devil’s to dress my periwig, you silly 
jade 9 — when you knew that Miss Wardour and Sir Ar- 
tliur were coming here early after breakfast, how could 
you let Caxon go on such a Tom-fool’s errand 9” 

“ Me ! what could 1 hinder him ‘^-your honour wadna 
hae us contradict the captain e en now, and mm may be 
deeing 9” 

“ Dying !” said the alarmed Antiquary, — “ eh ! — 
What ? has he been worse ?” 

“ Na, he’s no nae waur that I ken of.”^ 

“ Then he must be better — and what good is a dog and 
a gun to do here, but the one to destroy all my furniture, 
steal from my larder, and perhaps worry the cat, and the 
other to shoot somebody through the head — he has had 
gunning and pistolling enough to serve him one while, 1 
should think.” 

Here Miss Oldbuck entered the parlour, at the door ot 
which Oldbuck was carrying on this conversation, he bel- 
lowing downward to Jenny, and she again screaming up- 
ward in reply. “ Dear brother,” said the old lady, “ ye’ll 
cry yoursell as hoarse as a corbie — is that the way to 
skreigh when there’s a sick person in the house 

“ Upon my word, the sick person’s like to have all the 
house to himself. I have gone without my breakfast, and 
am like to go without my wig ; and I must not, I sup- 
pose, presume to say I feel either hunger or cold, for fear 
of disturbing the sick gentleman who lies six rooms off, 
and who feels himself well enough to send for his dog 
and gun, though he knows I detest such implements ever 
since our elder brother, poor Williewald, marched out of 
the world on a pair of damp feet caught in the Kittle fit- 
ting-moss — But that signifies nothing — I suppose I shall 
be expected by and by to lend a hand to carry Squire 
Hector out upon his litter, while ho indulges his sports- 


r' 

THE ANTKtUARY. £ 

man-like propensities by shooting my pigeons or my tur- 
keys — I think any of the ferce natures are safe from him 
for one while.” 

Miss M’Intyre now entered, and began to her usual 
morning’s task of arranging her uncle’s breakfast, with 
the alertness of one who is too late in setting about a 
task, and is anxious to make up for lost time. But this did 
not avail her. ‘‘ Take care, you silly woin^ankind — that 
mum’s too near the fire — the bottle will burst — and 1 sup- 
pose you intend to reduce the toast to a cinder as a burnt- 
offering for Juno, or what do you call her — the female 
dog there, with some such Pantheon kind of a name, that 
your wise brother has, in his first moments of mature 
reflection, ordered up as a fitting inmate of my house, (I 
than^k him,) and meet company to aid the rest of the 
womankind of my household in their daily conversation 
and intercourse with him.” 

“ Dear uncle, don’t be angry about the poor spaniel ; 
she’s been tied up at my brother’s lodgings at F airport, and 
she’s broke her chain twice, and come running down here 
to him ; and you would not have us beat the faithful beast 
away fiom the door — it moans as if it had some sense 
of poor Hector’s misfortune, and will hardly stir from the 
door of his room.” 

“ Why,” said his uncle, “ they said Caxon had gone 
to Fairport after his dog and gun.” 

“ O dear sir, no,” answered Miss M’Intyre, ‘‘ it was 
to fetch some dressings that* were wanted, and Hector 
only wished him to bring out his gun, as he was going to 
Fairport at any rate.” 

‘‘ Well, then, it is not altogether so foolish a business, 
considering what a mess of womankind have been about 
it — Dressings, quotha : — and who is to dress my wig ? 
— but I suppose Jenny will undertake” — continued the 
old bachelor, looking at himself in the glass, — “ to make 
it somewhat decent. And now let us set to breakfast — 
with what appetite we may — Well may I say to Hector, 
as Sir Isaac Newton did to his dog Diamond when the 
animal (I detest dogs) flung down the taper among cal- 

VOL. !I. 


6 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


cu^ations which had occupied the philosopher for twenty 
years, and consumed the whole mass of materials — Dia- 
mond, Diamond, thou little knowest the mischief thou 
hast done I” 

“ I assure you, sir,” replied his niece, ‘‘ my brother 
is quite sensible of the rashness of his own behaviour, 
and allows that Mr. Lovel behaved very handsomely.” 

“ And much good that will do when he has frightened 
the lad out of the country ! — I tell thee, Mary, Hector’s 
understanding, and far more that of feminity, is inadequate 
to comprehend the extent of the loss which he has occa- 
sioned to the present age and to posterity — aureum quidem 
opus — a poem on such a subject — witli notes illustrative 
of all that is clear, and all that is dark, and all that is 
neither dark nor clear, but hovers in dusky twilight in the 
region of Caledonian antiquities. 1 would have made 
the Celtic panegyrists look about them — Fingal, as they 
conceitedly term Fin-Mac-Coul, should have disappeared 
before my search, rolling himself in his cloud like the 
spirit of Loda. Such an opportunity can hardly again 
occur to an ancient and grey-haired man — and to see it 
lost by the madcap spleen of a hot-headed boy! — but I 
submit — Heaven’s will be done.” 

Thus continued the Antiquary to maunder, as his sister 
expressed it, during the whole time of breakfast, while 
despite of sugar and honey, and all the comforts of a 
Scottish morning tea-table, his reflections rendered the 
meal bitter to all who heard them. But they knew the 
nature of the man. “ Monkbarns’s bark,” said Miss 
Griselda Oldbuck, in confidential intercourse with Miss 
Rebecca Blattergowl, “ is muckle waur than his bite.” 

In fact, Mr. Oldbuck had suffered in mind extremely 
while his nephew was in actual danger, and now felt him- 
self at liberty, upon his returning health, to indulge in com- 
plaints respecting the trouble he had been put to, and the 
interruption of his antiquarian labours. Listened to, there- 
fore, in respectful silence, by his niece and sister, he unload- 
ed his discontent in such grumblings as we have rehears- 
ed, venting many a sarcasm against womankind, soldiers 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


7 


dogs, and guns, all which implements of noise, discord, 
and tumult, as he called them, he professed to hold in 
utter abomination. 

This expectoration of spleen was suddenly interrupted 
by the noise of a carriage without, when, shaking off all 
sullenness at the sound, Oldbuck ran nimbly up stairs 
and down stairs, for both operations w^ere necessary, ere 
he could receive Miss Wardour and her father at the door 
of his mansion. 

A cordial greeting passed on both sides. And Sir Ar- 
thur, referring to his previous inquiries by letter and mes- 
sage, requested to be particularly informed of Captain 
M’Intyre’s health. 

“ Better than he deserves,” was the answer ; “ better 
than he deserves, for disturbing us with his vixen brawls, 
and breaking God’s peace and the King’s.” 

“ The young gentleman,” Sir Arthur said, “ had been 
imprudent ; but he understood they were indebted to him 
for the detection of a suspicious character in the young 
man Lovel.” 

“ No more suspicious than his own,” answered the An- 
tiquary, eager in his favourite’s defence ; “ the young gen- 
tleman was a little foolish and headstrong, and refused to 
answer Hector’s impertinent interrogatories — that is all. 
Lovel, Sir Arthur, knows how to choose his confidants 
better — ay, Miss Wardour, you may look at me — but it 
IS very true — it wsls in my bosom that he deposited ihe 
secret cause of his residence at Fairport, and no stone 
should have been left unturned on my part to assist him in 
the pursuit to which he had dedicated himself.” 

On hearing this magnanimous declaration on the part 
of the old Antiquary, Miss Wardour changed colour 
more than once, and could hardly trust her own ears. 
For, of all confidants to be selected as the depositary of 
love affairs, and such she naturally supposed must have 
been the subject of communication, next to Edie Och- 
iltree,--01dbuck seemed the most uncouth and extraordi- 
nary ; nor could she sufficiently admire or fret at the 
extraordinary combination of circumstances wdiich thus 
direw a secret of such a delicate nature into the possess- 


8 


THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


ion of persons so unfitted to be intrusted with it. She had 
next to fear the mode of Oldbuck’s entering upon tlie af- 
fair with her father, for such she doubted not, was his 
intention. She well knew, that the honest gentleman, how- 
ever vehement in his prejudices, had no great sympa- 
thy with those of others, and she had to fear a most un- 
pleasant explosion upon an eclaircissement taking place 
between them. It was therefore with great anxiety that 
she heard her father request a private interview, and ob- 
served Oldbuck readily arise, and show the way to his 
library. She remained behind, attempting to converse 
with the ladies of Monkbarns, but with the distracted 
feelings of Macbeth, when compelled to disguise his evil 
conscience, by listening and replying to the observations 
of the attendant thanes upon the storm of the preceding 
night, while his whole soul is upon the stretch to listen for 
the alarm of murder, which he knows must be instantly 
raised by those who hatve entered the sleeping apartment 
of Duncan. But the conversation of the two virtuosi 
turned on a subject very different from that which Miss 
War dour apprehended. 

“ Mr. oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, when they had, after 
a due exchange of ceremonies, fairly seated themselves m 
the sanctum sanctorum of the Antiquary, — “ you, v.no 
know so much of my family matters, may probably be 
surprised at the question I am about to put to you.” 

“ Why, Sir Arthur, if it relates to money, I am very 
sorry, but” 

“ It does relate to money matters, Mr. Oldbuck.” 

‘‘ Really then. Sir Arthur,”' continued the Antiquary, 
“ in the present state of the money-market — and stocks 
being so low” 

“ You mistake my meaning, Mr. Oldbuck,” said the 
Baronet ; “ I wished to ask your advice about laying out 
a large sum of money to advamage.” 

‘‘ The devil !” exclaimed the Antiquary ; and, sensi- 
ble that his involuntary ejaculation of wonder was not ovei 
and above civil, he proceeded to qualify it by expressing 
his joy that Sir Arthur should have a sum of money to 


THE /VNTIQ,UAllY. 


9 


lay out when the commodity was so scarce. “ And as 
for the mode of employing it,” said he, paiuing, “ the 
funds are low at present, as 1 said before, and there are 
good bargains of land to be had. But had you not better 
begin by clearing olT incumt>rances. Sir Arthur 9 — There 
is the sum in the personal bond — and the three notes of 
hand,” — continued he, taking out of the right-hand drawer 
of his cabinet a certain re'd memorandum-book, of which 
Sir Arthur, from the experience of former frequent ap- 
peals to it, abhorred the very sight — “ with the interest 
thereon, amounting altogether to — let me see” 

“ To about a thousand pounds,” said Sir Arthur hasti- 
ly ; “ you told me the amount the other day.” 

“ But there’s another term's interest due since that, 
Sir Arthur, and it amounts (errors excepted) to eleven 
hundred and thirteen pounds, seven shillings, five pennies, 
and three-fourths of a penny sterling — but look over the 
summation yourself.” 

“ I dare say you are quite right, my dear sir,” said the 
Baronet, putting away the book with his hand, as one re- 
jects the old-fashioned civility that presses food upon you, 
after you have eaten till you nauseate, — “ perfectly right, 
I dare to say, and in the course of three days or less you 
shall have the full value — that is, if you choose to accept 
it in bullion.” 

“ Bullion ! I suppose you mean lead. What the deuce I 
have we hit on the vein then at last 9 — But what could 
I do with a thousand pounds worth, and upwards, of lead 9 
— the former Abbots of Trotcosey might have roofed theii 
church and monastery with it indeed — but for' me” 

‘‘ By bullion,” said the Baronet, “ I mean the precious 
metals, — gold and silver.” 

“ Ay ! indeed 9 — And from what Eldorado is this 
treasure to be imported 9” 

Not far from hence,” said Sir Arthur, significantly 
‘ and now I think of it, you shall see the whole process 
on one small condition.” 

“ And what is that 9” craved the Antiquary. 


10 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


« Why, it will be necessary for you to give me your 
friendly assistance, by advancing one hundred pounds, or 
thereabouts.” 

Mr. Oldbuck, who had already been grasping in idea 
the sum, principal and interest, of a debt which he had 
long regarded as well nigh desperate, was so much as- 
tounded at the tables being so unexpectedly turned upon 
him, that he could only re-echo, in an accent of woe and 
surprise, the words, “ Advance one hundred pounds !” 

“ Yes, my good sir,” continued Sir Arthur ; “ but upon ^ 
the best possible security of being repaid in the course 
of two or three days.” 

There was a pause — either Oldbuck’s nether-jaw had 
not recovered its position so as to enable him to utter a 
negative, or his curiosity kept him silent. 

“ I would not propose to you,” continued Sir Arthur, 

“ to oblige me thus far, if I did not possess actual proofs 
of the reality of those expectations which 1 now hold out 
to you. And, 1 assure you, Mr. Oldbuck, that in entering 
fully upon this topic, it is my purpose to show my confi- 
dence in you, and my sense of your kindness on many 
former occasions.” 

Mr. Oldbuck professed his sense of obligation, but 
carefully avoided committing himself by any promise of 
farther assistance. 

“ Mr. Dousterswivel,” said Sir Arthur, “ having discov- 
ered” — 

Here Oldbuck broke in, his eyes sparkling with in- 
dignation. ‘‘ Sir Arthur, I have so often warned you of 
the knavery of that rascally quack, that 1 really wonder 
you should quote him to me.” 

‘‘ But listen — listen,” interrupted Sir Arthur in his 
I urn, “ it will do you no harm. In short, Dousterswivel 
persuaded me to witness an experiment which he liad 
made in the ruins of St. Buth — and what do you think 
we found 9” 

Another spring of water, I suppose, of which the 
rogue had beforehand taken care to ascertain the situation 
and source.” 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


11 


No, indeed — a casket of gold and silver coins — • 
here they are.” 

Wiilj tliat, Sir Arthur drew from his pocket a large 
rarn’s-horn, witli a copper cover, containing a consider- 
able quantity of coins, chiefly silver, but with a few gold 
pieces intermixed. The Antiquary’s eyes glistened as he 
eagerly sjtread them out on the table. 

“ Upon my word — Scotch, English, and foreign coins, 
of tlie fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and some of them 
7 ai'i — et rarlores — ttiam rarissimi ! Here is the bonnet- 
piece of James V. — the unicorn of James II. — ay, and 
tJie gold testoon of Queen Mary, with her rr^ad and the 
Dauj)liin’s — And these were really found in the ruins ol 
St. Ruth 7” 

“ Most assuredly — my own eyes witnessed it.” 

“ Well,” replied Oldbuck, “ but you must tell me the 
when — the where — the how.” 

“ The when,” answered Sir Arthur, “ was at mid- 
night the last full moon — the where, as 1 have told you, 
in the ruins of St. Ruth’s priory — the how, was by a noc- 
turnal experiment of Dousterswivel, accompanied only by 
myself.” 

“ hideed !” said Oldbuck, and what means of dis- 
covery did you employ 7” 

“ Only a simple sufFumigation,” said the Baronet, 
“ accompanied by availing ourselves of the suitable plan- 
etary hour.” 

“ Sim[)le suffiimigation 9 simple nonsensification— 
planetary hour 9 planetary fiddlestick — Sapiens domin- 
ahitur astris. — My dear Sir Arthur, that fellow has made 
a gull of you abov^e ground and under ground, and he 
would have made a gull of you in the air too, if he had 
been by when you was craned up the devil’s turnpike 
yonder at Halket-head — to be sure, the transformation 
would have been then peculiarly aproposd^ 

“ Well, IMr. Oldbuck, 1 am obliged to you for your in- 
didhi ent opinio? of my discernment ; but 1 think you will 
give me credit for having seen what I say I saw.” 

12 


12 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


“ Certainly, Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “ to this 
extent at least, that I know Sir Arthur Wardour will not 
say he saw anything but what he thought he saw.” 

“ Well then,” replied the Baronet, “ as there is a 
Heaven above us, Mr. Oldbuck, I saw, with my own eyes, 
these coins dug out of the chancel of St. Ruth at midnight 
— And as to Dousterswivei, although the discover}' be 
owing to his science, yet, to tell the truth, I do not think 
he would have had firmness of mind to have gone through 
with it if I had not been beside him.” 

“ Ay ! indeed said Oldbuck, in the tone used v;hen 
one wishes to hear the end of a story before making any 
comment. 

“ Yes, truly,” continued Sir Arthur, “I assure you 1 
was upon my guard — we did hear some very uncommon 
sounds, that is certain, proceeding from among the ruins.” 

“ O, you did V' said Oldbuck ; “ an accomplice hid 
among them, I suppose*?” 

“ Not a jot,” said the Baronet ; “ the sounds, tliough 
of a hideous and preternatural character, rather resemb- 
led those of a man who sneezes violently than any other 
—one deep groan I certainly heard besides — and Dous- 
terswivel assures me that he beheld the spirit Peolphan, 
the Great Hunter of the North, (look for him in your Nic- 
olaus Remigius, or Petrus Thyracus, Mr. Oldbuck,) who 
mimicked the motion of snuff-taking and its effects.” 

“ These indications, however singular, as proceeding 
from such a personage, seem to have been apropos to 
the matter,” said the Antiquary ; for you see the case, 
which includes these coins, has all the appearance of be- 
ing an old-fashioned Scottish snuff-mill. But you per- 
severed, in spite of the terrors of the sneezing goblin *?” 

“ Why, I think it probable that a man of inferior sense 
or consequence might have given way ; but 1 was jealous 
of an imposture, conscious of the duty I owed to my fam- 
ily in maintaining my t^ourage under every contingency, 
and therefore I compelled Dousterswivel, by actual and 
violent threats, to proceed with what he was about to do ; 
and sir, the proof of his skill and honesty is this parcel 


THE A^^TIQ,UARY. 


13 


of gold and sdver pieces, out of which I beg you to se- 
lect such coins or medals as will best suit your collection.’' 

“ Why, Sir Arthur, since you are so good, and on 
condition you will permit me to mark the value accord- 
ing to Pinkerton’s catalogue and appreciation, against your 
account in my red-book, I will with pleasure select” 

“ Nay,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “ I do not mean you 
should consider them as anything but a gift of friend- 
ship, and least of all w’ould I stand by the valuation ol 
your friend Pinkerton, who has impugned the ancient and 
trust-worthjr authorities, upon which, as upon venerable 
and moss-grown pillars, the credit of Scottish antiquities 
reposed.” 

“ Ay, ay,” rejoined Oldbuck, “ you mean, I suppose, 
Mair and Boece, the Jachin and Boaz, not of history, 
but of falsification and forgery. And notwithstanding of 
all you have told me, I look on your friend Douster 
swivel to be as apocryphal as any of them.” 

“ Why, then, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “ not to 
awaken old disputes, 1 suppose you think, that because I 
believe in the ancient history of my country, I have neith- 
er eyes nor ears to ascertain what modern events pass 
before me 

“ Pardon me. Sir Arthur,” rejoined the Antiquary, 
‘‘ but I consider all the affectation of terror which this 
worthy gentleman, your coadjutor, chose to play off, as 
being merely one part of his trick or mystery. And, 
with respect to the gold or silver coins, they are so mixed 
and mingled in country and date, that I cannot suppose 
they could be any genuine hoard, and rather suppose 
them to be like the purses upon the table of Hudibras’s 
lawyer — 

Money placed for show, 

Like nest-eggs, to make clients lay, 

And for his false opinions pay. — 

ft is the trick of all professions, my dear Sir Arthur 
Pray, may I ask you how much this discovery cost you ?” 

“ About ten guineas.” 

VOL.. II. 


14 


THE ANTKtUART. 


“ And you have gained what is equivalent co twenty in 
actual bullion, and what may be perhaps worth as much 
more to such fools as ourselves, who are willing to pay 
for curiosity. This was allowing you a tempting profit 
on the first hazard, I must needs admit. And what is the 
next venture he proposes 

“ An hundred and fifty pounds ; I have given him one 
third part of the money, and I thought it likely you might 
assist me with the balance.” 

“ 1 should think that this cannot be meant as a parting 
blow — it is not of w'eight and importance sufficient ; he 
will probably let us win this hand also, as sharpers man- 
age a raw gamester. — Sir Arthur, I hope you believe 1 
would serve you 

“ Certainly, Mr. Oldbuck ; I think my confidence in 
3 mu on these occasions leaves no room to doubt that.” 

“ Well, then, allow me to speak to Dousterswivel. If 
the money can be advanced usefully and advantageously 
for you, why, for old neighbourhood’s sake, you shall not 
want it ; but if, as I think, 1 can recover the treasure for 
you without making such an advance, you will, I presume, 
have no objection 

“ Unquestionably, I can have none whatsoever.” 

Then, where is Dousterswivel 9” continued the An 
tiquary. 

“ To tell you the truth, he is in my carriage below ; 
but knowing your prejudice against him” 

“ J thank Heaven, I am not prejudiced against any 
man. Sir Arthur ; it is systems, not individuals, that incur 
my reprobation.” He rang the bell. “ Jenny, Sir Ar- 
thur and I offer our compliments to Mr. Dousterswivel, 
the gentleman in Sir Arthur’s carriage, and beg to have 
the pleasure of speaking with him here.” 

Jenny departed and delivered her message. It had 
been by no means a part of the project of Dousterswivel 
to let INIr. Oldbuck into his supposed mystery. He had 
relied upon Sir Arthur’s obtaining the necessary accom- 
modation without any discussion as to the nature of the 
application, and only waited below for the purpose o! 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


15 


possessing himself of the deposit as soon as possible, foj 
lie foresaw that his career was drawing to a close. But 
when summoned to the presence of Sir Arthur and Mr. 
Oldbuck, he resolved gallantly to put confidence in his 
powers of impudence, of which, the reader may have 
observed, his natural share was very liberal. 


CHAPTER 11. 

And this doctor, 

Your sooty smoky-bearded compeer, he 
Will close you so much gold in a bolt’s head, 

And, on a turn, convey in the stead another 
With sublimed mercury, that shall burst i’ the heat, 

And all fly out in fumo 

27ie Alchemist. 

“ How do you do, goot Mr. Oldenbuck 9 and I do 
hope your young gentleman. Captain M’Intyre, is getting 
better again 9 — Ach ! it is a bat business when young 
gentlemens will put lead balls into each other’s body.” 

“ Lead adventures of all kinds are very precarious, 
Mr. Dousterswivel ; but I am happy to learn,” continued 
the Antiquary, “ from my friend Sir Arthur, that you 
have taken up a better trade, and become a discoverer 
of gold.” 

“ Ach, Mr. Oldenbuck, mine goot and honoured patron 
should not have told a word about dat little matter ; for, 
though I have all reliance — yes, indeed, on goot Mr. Old- 
enbuck’s prudence and discretion, and his great friendship 
for Sir Arthur Wardour — yet, my heavens ! it is an great 
ponderous secret.” 

“ More ponderous than any of the metal we shall make 
oy it, I fear,” answered Oldbuck. 

‘‘ Dat is just as you shall have de faith and de patience 
for de grand experiment — If you join wid Sir Arthur, as 


16 


THE ANTIQ,rARY. 


he is pul one hundred and fifty — see, here is one fifty iu 
your dirty Fairport bank-note — you put one other hun- 
dred and fifty in de dirty notes, and you shall have de 
pure gold and silver, I cannot tell how much.” 

“ Nor any one for you, I believe,” said the Antiquary. 
“ But hark you, Mr. Dousterswivel ; suppose, without 
troubling this same sneezing spirit with any farther fumi- 
gations, we should go in a body, and having fair daylight 
and our good consciences to befriend us, using no other 
conjuring implements than good substantial pick-axes and 
shovels, fairly trench the area of the chancel in the ruins 
of St. Ruth, from one end to the other, and so ascertain 
the existence of this supposed treasure, without putting 
ourselves to any farther expense : the ruins belong to Sir 
Arthur himself, so there can be no objection. Do you 
think we shall succeed in this way of managing the 
matter *?” 

‘‘ Bah ! — you will not find one copper thimble — But Sir 
Arthur will do his pleasure — I have showed him how it is 
possible — very possible — to have de great sum of money 
for his occasions — I have showed him de real experiment 
— If he likes not to believe, goot Mr. Oldenbuck, it is 
nothing to Herman Dousterswivel — he only loses de 
money and de gold and de silvers — dat is all.” 

Sir Arthur Wardour cast an intimidated glance at Old- 
buck, who, especially when present, held, notwithstanding 
their frequent difference of opinion, no ordinary influence 
over his sentiments. In truth, the Baronet felt what he 
would not willingly have acknowledged, that his genius 
stood rebuked before that of the Antiquary. He re- 
spected him as a shrewd, penetrating, sarcastic character, 
feared his satire, and had some confidence in the general 
soundness of his opinions. He therefore looked at him 
as if desiring his leave before indulging his credulity. 
Dousterswivel saw he was in danger of losing his dupe, 
unless he could make some favourable impression on the 
adviser. 

I know, my goot Mr. Oldenbuck, it is one vanity to 
speak to you about de spirit and de goblin. But look ai 


TIIK ANTiq^UAllY 


17 


this curious horn ; I know you know de curiosity of ah 
de countries, and how de great Oldenburgh horn, as they 
keep still in the Museum at Copenhagen, was given to de 
Duke of Oldenburgh by one female spirit of de wood. 
Now I could not put one trick on you if 1 were willing, 
you who know all de curiosity so well, and dere it is de 
horn full of coins — if it had been a box or case, I would 
have said nothing.” 

“ Being a horn,” said Oldbuck, “ does indeed strength- 
en your argument. It was an implement of nature’s fash- 
ioning, and therefore much used among rude nations, al- 
though it may be the metaphorical horn is more frequent 
in proportion to the progress of civilization. And this 
present horn,” he continued, rubbing it upon his sleeve, 
“ is a curious and venerable relique, and no doubt was 
intended to prove a cornucopia, or horn of plenty, to 
some one or other, but whether to the adept or his patron 
may be justly doubted.” 

“ Well, Mr. Oldenbuck, I find you still hard of belief 
— but let me assure you, de monksh understood de 
magisterium,^’ 

“ Let us leave talking of the magisterium, Mr. Dous- 
terswivel, and think a little about the magistrate. Are 
you aware that this occupation of yours is .against the law 
of Scotland, and that both Sir Arthur and myself are in 
the commission of the peace 

“ JMine Heaven ! and what is dat to de purpose when I 
am doing you all de goot I can 

“ Why, you must know, that when the legislature abol- 
ished the cruel laws against witchcraft, they had no hope 
of destroying the superstitious feelings of humanity on 
which such chimeras had been founded, and to prevent 
those feelings from being tampered with by artful and 
designing persons, it is enacted by the ninth of George 
the Second, chapter 5, that whosoever shall pretend, by 
his alleged skill in any occult or crafty science, to dis- 
cover such goods as are lost, stolen, or concealed, he 

VOL. II. 


18 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


shall suffer punishment by pillory and imprisonment, as 
a common cheat and impostor.” 

“ And is dat de laws asked Dousterswivel with some 
agitation. 

‘‘ Thyself shalt see the act,” replied the Antiquary. 

“ Den, gentlemens, I shall take my leave of you, dat 
IS all ; 1 do not like to stand on your what you call pillory 
— it is very bad way to take de air, I think ; and I do 
not like your prisons no more, where one cannot take de 
air at all.” 

‘‘ If such be your taste, Mr. Dousterswivel,” said the 
Antiquary, “ I advise you to stay where you are, for I 
cannot let you go, unless it be in the society of a consta- 
ble ; and, moreover, I expect you will attend us just now 
to the ruins of St. Ruth, and point out the place where 
you propose to find this treasure.” 

“ Mine heaven, Mr. Oldenbuck ! what usage is this 
to your old friend, when I tell you so plain as I can speak, 
dat if you go now, you will get not so much treasure as 
one poor shabby sixpence 9” 

“ I will try the experiment, however, and you shall be 
dealt with according to its success, — always with Sir Ar- 
thur’s permission.” 

Sir Arthur, during this investigation, had looked ex- 
tremely embarrassed, and, to use a vulgar but expressive 
phrase, chop-fallen. Oldbuck’s obstinate disbelief led 
him strongly to suspect the imposture of Dousterswivel, 
and the adept’s mode of keeping his ground was less 
resolute than he had expected. Yet he did not entirely 
give him up. 

“ Mr. Oldbuck,” said the Baronet, “ you do Mr. 
Dousterswivel less than justice. He has undertaken to 
make this discovery by the use of his art, and by applying 
characters descriptive of the Intelligences presiding over 
the planetary hour in which the experiment is to be 
made ; and you require him to proceed, under pain oi 
punishment, without allowing him the use of any of the 
preliminaries which he considers as the means of pro- 
curing success.” 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


19 


“ I did not say that exactly — I only required him to be 
present when we make the search, and not to leave us 
during the interval. — I fear he may have some intelligence 
with the Intelligences you talk of, and that whatever may 
be now hidden at Saint Ruth may disappear before we 
get there.” 

“ Well, gentlemens,” said Dousterswivel sullenly, “ I 
will make no objections to go along with you ; but I tell 
you beforehand, you shall not find so much of any thing 
as shall be worth your going twenty yard from your own 
gate.” 

“We will put that to a fair trial,” said the Antiquary ; 
and the .Baronet’s equipage being ordered. Miss Wardour 
received an intimation from her father, that she was to 
remain at Monkbarns until his return from an airing. 
The young lady was somewhat at a loss to reconcile this 
direction with the communication which she supposed 
must have passed betw^een Sir Arthur and the Antiquary, 
but she was compelled, for the present, to remain in a 
most unpleasant state of suspense. 

The journey of the treasure-seekers was melancholy 
enough. Dousterswivel maintained a sulky silence, 
brooding at once over disappointed expectation and the 
risk of punishment ; Sir Arthur, whose golden dreams 
had been gradually fading away, surveyed, in gloomy pros- 
pect, the impending difficulties of his situation ; and Old- 
buck, who perceived that his having so far interfered in his 
neighbour’s affairs gave the Baronet a right to expect some 
actual and efficient assistance, sadly pondered to what 
extent it would be necessary to draw open the strings of 
his purse. Thus each being wrapped in his own unplea- 
sant ruminations, there was hardly a word said on either 
side, until they reached the Four Horse-shoes, by which 
sign the little inn was distinguished. They procured at 
this place the necessary assistance and implements for 
digging, and while they were busy about these prepara- 
tions, wera suddenly joined by the old beggar, Edie 
Ochiltree. 


20 


TIIK ANTiqUAllY. 


‘‘ The Lord bless your honour,” began the Blue-Gown, 
with the genuine mendicant whine, “ and long life to you 
i — weel pleased am 1 to hear that young Captain M’lntyre 
is like to be on his legs again sune — Think on your poor 
bedesman the day.” 

“ Aha, old true-penny !” replied the Antiquary. 
“ Why, thou hast never come to Monkbarns since thy 
perils by rock and flood — here’s something for thee to buy 
snufl',” — and, fumbling for his purse, he pulled out at the 
same time the horn which enclosed the coins. 

“ Ay, and there’s something to pit it in,” said the men- 
dicant, eyeing the ram’s horn — “ that loom’s an auld 
acquaintance o’ mine. I could take my aith to that 
sneeshing-mull amang a thousand — I carried it for mony 
a year, till I nifiered it for this tin ane wi’ auld George 
Glen, the damme r and sinker, when he took a fancy till’t 
doun at Glen-Withershins yonder.” 

“ Ay ! indeed said Oldbuck, — “ so you exchanged 
it with a miner but I presume you never saw it so well 
filled before — and, opening it, he showed the coins. 

“ Troth, ye may swear that, Monkbarns — when it was 
mine it ne’er had abune the like o’ saxpenny worth o’ 
black rappee in’t at ance ; but I reckon ye’ll be gaun to 
make an antic o’t, as ye hae dune wi’ mony an orra thing 
besides. Odd, I wish ony body wad made an antic o’ 
me ; but mony ane will find worth in rousted bits o’ capper 
and horn and aim, that care unco little about an auld 
carle o’ their ain country and kind.” 

“ You may now guess,” said Oldbuck, turning to Sir 
Arthur “to whose good offices you were indebted the other 
night. To trace this cornucopia of yours to a miner is 
bringing it pretty near a friend of ours — I hope we shall 
be as successful this morning without paying for it.” 

“ And wdiare is your honours gaun the day,” said the 
mendicant, “ wi’ a’ your picks and shules 9 — Odd, this 
will be some o’ your tricks, Monkbarns ; ye’ll be for 
whirling some o’ the auld monks down by yonder out o 
their graves afore they hear the last call — but, wi’ your leave 
I’se follow ye at ony rate, and see what ye make o’t.” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


21 


The party soon arrived at the ruins of the priory, and, 
having gained the chancel, stood still to consider what 
course they were to pursue next. The Antiquary, mean 
time, addressed the adept. 

“ Pray, Mr. Dousterswivel, what is your advice in this 
matter — Shall we have most likelihood of success if 
we dig from east to west, or from west to east 9 — or will 
5 ^ou assist us with your triangular vial of May-dew, or 
with your divining-rod of witches-hazel 9 Or will you 
have the goodness to supply us with a few thumping blus- 
tering terms of art, which, if they fail in our present ser- 
vice, may at least be useful to those who have not the 
happiness to be bachelors, to still their brawling children 
withal 9” 

“ Mr. Oldenbuck,” said Dousterswivel doggedly, “ 1 
have told you already you will make no good work at 
all, and I will find some way of mine own to thank you 
for your civilities to me — yes, indeed.” 

“ If your honours are thinking of tiding the floor,” 
said Old Edie, “ and wad but takeapuir body’s advice, 
I would begin below that muckle stane that has the man 
there streekit out upon his back in the midst o’t.” 

“ I have some reason for thinking favourably of that 
plan myself,” said the Baronet. 

‘‘ And I have nothing to say against it,” said Ofdbuck ; 
“ it was not unusual to hide treasure in the tombs of the 
deceased — many instances might be quoted of that from 
Bartholinus and others.” 

The tomb-stone, the same beneath which the coin^ had 
been found by Sir Arthur and the German, was once more 
forced aside, and the earth gave easy way to the spade. 

“ It’s travell’d earth that,” said Edie, “ it houks sae 
?ithly — I ken it weel, for ance I wrought a simmer wi’ 
auld Will Winnett, the bedral, and howkit mair graves 
than ane in my day ; but I left him in winter, for it was 
unco cald wark ; and then it cam a green Yule, and the 
folk died thick and fast — for ye ken a green Yule makes 
a fat kirk-yard — and I never dowed to bide a hard turn 


22 


THE ANTlt^UAllY. 


o' wark in my life — sae aff I gaed, and left Will to delve 
his last dwellings by himsell for Edie.” 

The diggers were now so far advanced in their labours 
as to discover that the sides of the grave which they were 
clearing out had been originally secured by four walls of 
freestone, forming a parallelogram, for the reception, pro- 
bably, of the coffin. 

“ It is worth while proceeding in our labours,” said the 
Antiquary to Sir Arthur, “ were it but for curiosity’s 
sake. 1 wonder on whose sepulchre they have bestowed 
such uncommon pains.” 

“ The arms on the shield,” said Sir Arthur, and sighed 
as he spoke it, “ are the same with those on Misticot’s 
tower, supposed to have been built by JMalcolm the 
usurper. No man knew where he was buried, and there 
is an old prophecy in our family, that bodes us no good 
when his grave shall be discovered.” 

“ I wot,” said the beggar, “ I have often heard that 
when I was a bairn, 

‘ If Malcolm the Misticot’s grave were fun’, 

The lands of Knockwinnock are lost and won.’ ” 

Oldbuck, with his spectacles on his nose, had already 
knelt down on the monument, and was tracing, partly 
with his eye, partly with his finger, the mouldered devices 
upon the effigy of the deceased warrior. “ It is the 
Knockwinnock arms, sure enough,” he exclaimed, 
“ quarterly with the coat of Wardour.” 

“ Richard, called the Red-handed Wardour, married 
Sibyl Knockwinnock, the heiress of the Saxon family, 
and by that alliance,” said Sir Arthur, “ brought the 
castle and estate into the name of Wardour, in the year 
of God, 1150.” 

“ Very true. Sir Arthur, and here is the baton-sinister, 
the mark of illegitimacy, extended diagonally through both 
coats upon the shield. Where can our eyes have been, 
that they did not see this curious monument before *?” 

“ Na, whare was the through-stane that it didna come 
before our een till e’enow said Ochiltree ; “ for Ihae 


THE AJfTiqUARY. 


23 


kend this auld kirk, man and bairn, for saxty lang 
years, and I ne’er noticed it afore, and it’s nae sic mote 
neither but what ane might see it in their parritch.” 

All were now induced to tax their memory as to the 
former state of the ruins in that corner of the chancel, 
and all agreed in recollecting a considerable pile of rub- 
bish which must have been removed and spread abroad 
in order to make the tomb visible. Sir Arthur might, 
indeed, have remembered seeing the monument on the 
former occasion, but his mind was too much agitated to 
attend to the circumstance as a novelty. 

While the assistants were engaged in these recollections 
and discussions, the workmen proceeded with their la- 
bour. They had already dug to the depth of nearly five 
feet, and as the flinging out the soil became more and 
more difficult, they began at length to tire of the job. 

u We’re down to the till now,” said one of them, 
“ and the ne’er a coffin or onything else is here — some 
cunninger chiel’s been afore us, I reckon and the 
labourer scrambled out of the grave. 

“ Hout, lad,” said Edie, getting down in his room, “ let 
me try my hand for an auld bedral — ye’re gude seekers 
but ill finders.” 

So soon as he got into the grave he struck his pike- 
staff forcibly down — it encountered resistance in its de- 
scent, and the beggar exclaimed, like a Scotch schoolboy 
when he finds anything, “ Nae halvers and quarters — 
hale o’ mine ain and nane o’ my neighbours.” 

Every body, from the dejected Baronet to the sullen 
adept, now caught the spirit of curiosity, crowded round 
the grave, and would have jumped into it could its space 
have contained them. The labourers, who had begun to 
flag in their monotonous and apparently hopeless task, 
now resumed their tools, and plied them with all the ardour 
of expectation. Their shovels soon grated upon a hard 
wooden surface, which, as the earth was cleared away, 
assumed the distinct form of a chest, but greatly smaller 
than that of a coffin. Now all hands were at work to 
Leave it out of the grave, and all voices, as it was raised. 


24 


THE ANTiq^UARY. 


proclaimed its weight and augured its value. They were 
not mistaken. 

When the chest or box was placed on the surface, and 
the lid forced up by a pick-axe, there was displayed first 
a coarse canvas cover, then a quantity of oakum, and 
beneath that a number of ingots of silver. A general 
exclamation hailed a discovery so surprising and unex- 
pected. The Baronet threw his hands and eyes up to 
Heaven, with the silent rapture of one who is delivered 
from inexpressible distress of mind. Oldbuck, almost 
unable to credit his eyes, lifted one piece of silver after 
another. There was neither inscription nor stamp upon 
them, excepting one, which seemed to be Spanish. He 
could have no doubt of the purity and great value of tlie 
treasure before him. Still, however, removing piece by 
piece, he examined row by row, expecting to discover that 
the lower layers were of inferior value ; but he could per- 
ceive no difference in this respect, and found himself com- 
pelled to admit, that Sir Arthur had possessed himself of 
bullion to the value perhaps of a thousand pounds sterling 
Sir Arthur now promised the assistants a handsome rec- 
ompense for their trouble, and began to busy himself 
about the mode of conveying this rich windfall to the 
castle of Knockwinnock, when the adept, recovering from 
his surprise, which had equalled that exhibited by any 
other individual of the party, twitched his sleeve, and hav- 
ing offered his humble congratulations, turned next to 
Oldbuck with an air of triumph. 

“ I did tell you, my goot friend IMr. Oldenbuck, dat 1 
was to seek opportunity to thank you for your civility ; 
now do you not think 1 have found out vary goot way to 
return thank T’ 

“ Why, Mr. Dousterswivel, do you pretend to have 
had any hand in our good success — You forget you re- 
fused us all aid of your science, man. And you are here 
without your weapons that should have fought the battle, 
which you pretend to have gained in our behalf. You 
have used neither charm, lamen, sigil, talisman, spell, 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


25 


crystal, pentacle, magic mirror, nor geomantic figure. 
Where be your periapts, and your abracadabras, man ^ 
your J\Iay-fearn, your vervain, 

' Your toad, your crow, your dragon^and your panther, 

Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop, 

Your Lalo, Azoch, Zernich, Chibrit, Heautarit, 

With all your broths, your menstrues, your materials, 

Would burst a man to name V 

All ! rare Ben Jonson ! long peace to thy ashes for a 
scourge of the quacks of thy day ! — who expected to see 
them revive in our own 

The answer of the adept to the Antiquary’s tirade we 
must defer to our next chapter. 


CHAPTER III. 

Clause. You now shall know the king o’ the beggars’ treasure - 
Yes — ere to-morrow you shall find your harbour 
Here, — fall me not, for if I live I’ll fit you. 

The Beggar^ s Bush 

The German, determined, it would seem, to assert the 
vantage-ground on which the discovery had placed him, 
replied with great pomp and stateliness to the attack of 
the Antiquary : 

“ Maister Oldenbuck, all dis may be very witty and 
comedy, but I have nothing to say — nothing at all — to 
people dat will not believe deir own eye-sights. It is vary 
true dat I ave not any of de things of de art, and it makes 
de more wonder what I has done dis day. — But I would 
ask of you, mine honoured and goot and generous patron, 
to put your haiid into your right-hand waistcoat pocket, 
and show me what you shall find dere.” 

VOL. II. 


26 


THE ANTKtUARY. 


Sir Arthur obeyed his direction, and j) ailed out the 
small plate of silver which he had used under the adept’s 
aus})ices upon the former occasion. “ It is very true,” 
said Sir Arthur, looking gravely at the Antiquary, 
“ this is the graduated and calculated sigil by which Mr 
Doiisterswivel and I regulated our first discovery.” 

“ Pshaw ! pshaw ! my dear friend,” said Oldbuck 

you are too wise to believe in the influence of a trum- 
pery crown-piece, beat out thin, and a parcel of scratches 
upon it. I tell thee. Sir Arthur, that if Doiisterswivel had 
known where to get this treasure himself, you would not 
have been lord of the least share of it.” 

‘‘ In troth, please your honour,” said Edie, who put 
in his word on all occasions, “ I think, since Mr. Dun- 
kerswivel has had sae muckle merit in discovering a’ the 
gear, the least ye can do is to gie him that o’t that’s left 
behind for his labour, for doubtless he that kend where 
to find sae muckle will hae nae difficulty to find mair.” 

Dousterswivel’s brow grew very dark at this proposal 
of leaving him to his ‘‘ ain purchase,” as Ochiltree ex- 
pressed it ; but the beggar, drawing him aside, whispered 
a word or two in his ear, to which he seemed to give 
serious attention. 

Meanwhile, Sir Arthur, his heart warm with his good 
fortune, said aloud, “ Nev’^er mind our friend Monkbarns, 
Mr. Doiisterswivel, but come to the castle to-morrow and 
I’ll convince you that I am not ungrateful for the hints 
you have given me about this matter, and the fifty Fair- 
port dirty notes, as you call them, are heartily at your 
service. Come, my lads, get the cover of this precious 
chest fastened up again.” 

But the cover had in the confusion fallen aside among 
the rubbish, or the loose earth which had been removed 
from the grave — in short, it was not to be seen. 

‘‘ Never mind, my good lads, tie the tarpaulin over it, 
and get it away to the carriage. Monkbarns, will you 
walk 9 — I must go back your way to take up IMiss War 
dou'*,” 


the ANTiqUARV, 


27 


“ And, I hope, to take up your dinner also. Sir Arthur 
and drink a glass ol wine for joy of our hapj)y adventure 
Besides, you should write about tlte business to the Ex- 
chequer, in case of any interference on the part of the 
crown. As you are lord of the manor, it will be easy to 
get a deed of gift should they make any claim — we must 
talk about it though.” 

“ And I particularly recommend silence to all who aie 
present,” said Sir Arthur, looking round. All bowed 
and professed themselves dumb. 

“ Why, as to that,” said IMonkbarns, “ recommending 
secrecy where a dozen of people are acquainted with the 
circumstance to be concealed, is only putting the truth in 
masquerade, for the story will be circulated under twenty 
dilferent shapes. But never mind, we will state the true 
one to the Barons, and that is all that is necessary.” 

“ 1 incline to send off an express to-night,” said the 
Baronet. 

“ 1 can recommend your honour to a sure hand,” said 
Ochiltree ; “ little Davie Mailsetter and the butcher’s 
reisting powney.” 

“ We will talk over the matter as we go to Monkbarns,” 
said Sir Arthur. “ J\Iy lads, (to the w’ork-peojde) come 
with me to the Four Horse-shoes, that I may take down 
all your names. Dousterswivel, ] won’t ask you to go 
down to Monkbarns, as the laird and you differ so widely 
In opinion ; but do not fail to come to see me to-morrow.” 

Dousterswivel growled out an answer, in which the 
words “ duty,” — “ mine honoured patron,” — and “ wait 
upon Sir Arthurs,” — were alone distinguishable ; and 
after the Baronet and his friend had left the ruins, follow- 
ed by the servants and workmen, who, in hope of re- 
ward and whisky, joyfully attended their leader, the 
adept remained in a brown study by the side of the open 
grave. 

‘‘ Who was it as could have thought this 9” he ejacu- 
lated unconsciously. “ Mine Ireiligkeit ! I have heard 
of such things, and often spoken of such things — but, 
sapperment ! I never thought to see them ! And if 1 had 
g( ne but t\\ 3 or dree feet dee])er down in the earth-- 


28 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


mein himmel ! it had been all mine own — so much more 
as I have been muddling about to get from this fool’s man.’' 

Here the German ceased his soliloquy, for, raising his 
eyes, he encountered those of Edie Ochiltree, who had 
not followed the rest of the company, but, resting as usual 
on his pike-stafF, had planted himself on the other side 
of the grave. The features of the old man, naturally 
shrewd and expressive almost to an appearance of knav- 
ery, seemed in this instance so keenly knowing, that even 
tlie assurance of Dousterswivel, though a professed ad- 
venturer, sunk beneath their glances. But he saw the 
necessity of an eclaircissement, and, rallying his spirits, 
instantly began to sound the mendicant on the occurren- 
ces of the day. “ Goot Maister Edies Ochiltrees” 

“ Edie Ochiltree, nae maister — your puir bedesman 
and the King’s,” answered the Blue-gown. 

“ Awell den, goot Edie, what do you think of all dis 9” 
I was just thinking it was very kind (for 1 darena say 
very simple) o’ your honour to gie thae twa rich gentles, 
wha hae lands and lairdships, and siller without end. this 
grand pose o’ silver and treasure, (three times tried in the 
fire, as the Scripture expresses it,) that might hae made 
voursell, and ony twa or three honest bodies beside, as 
aappy and content as the day was lang.” 

“ Indeed, Edie, mine honest friends, dat is very true ; 
only I did not know, that is, I was not sure, where to find 
de gilt myself.” 

“ What ! wash not by your honour’s advice and coun- 
sel that Monkbarns and the Knight of Knockwinnock 
came here then 9” 

“ Aha — yes — but it was by another circumstance ; 1 

did not know dat dey would have found de treasure, mein 
friend ; though I did guess, by sucli a tintarnarre, and 
cough, and sneeze, and groan, among de spirit one other 
night here, dat there might be treasure and bullion Iierc- 
about. Ach, mein himmel ! the spirit will hone and groan 
oyer his gelt, as if he were a Dutch burgomaster counting 
his dollars after a great dinner at the Stadthaus.” 

“ And do you really believe the like o’ that, Mr. Duster- 
ieevil? — a skeelfu’ man like you — hout tie !” 


TllR ANT1Q.UARY. 


29 


“ Mein friend,” answered the adept, forced by circum- 
stances to speak something nearer the truth than he gen- 
erally used to do, “ I believed it no more than you and no 
man at all, till 1 did hear them hone and moan and groan 
myself on de oder night, and till 1 did this day see de 
cause, which was an great chest all full of de pure silver 
from Mexico — and what would you ave me think den ?” 

“ And what wad ye gie to ony ane,” said Edie, “ that 
wad held. ye to sic another kistfu’ o’ silver?” 

Give ? — mein bimmel ! — one great big quarter of it.” 

“ Now, if the secret were mine,” said the mendicant, 
“ I wad stand out for a half ; for you see, though I am but 
a puir ragged body, and couldna carry silver or gowd to 
sell for fear o’ being ta’en up, yet I could find mony folk 
would pass it awa for me at unco muckle easier profit 
than ye’re thinking on.” 

“ Ach, himmel ! — Mein goot friend, what was it I said 
— I did mean to say you should have de tree quarter for 
your half, and de one quarter to be my fair half.” 

“No, no, Mr. Dusterdeevil, we will divide equally what 
w^e find, like brother and brother. Now look at this 
board that I just flung into the dark aisle out o’ the way, 
while Monkbarns was glow^ering ower a’ the silver yon- 
der. He’s a sharp chiel Monkbarns. I was glad to keep 
the like o’ this out o’ his sight. Ye’ll maybe can read 
the character better than me — I am nae that book-learn- 
ed, at least I’m no that muckle in practice.” 

With this modest declaration of ignorance, Ochiltree 
brought forth from behind a pillar the cover of the box or 
chest of treasure, which, when forced from its hinges, 
had been carelessly flung aside during the ardour of cu- 
riosity to ascertain the contents which it concealed, and 
had been afterwards, as it seems, secreted by the mendi- 
cant. There was a word and a number upon the plank, 
and the beggar made them more distinct by spitting upon 
his ragged blue handkerchief, and rubbing off the clay 
by which the inscription was obscured. It was in the or- 
dinary black letter 
VOL II 


30 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


“ Can ye mak aught o’t 9” said Edie to the adept. 

“ S,” said the philoso})her, like a child getting his lesson 
(n the primer ; “ S, T, A, R, C, H — Starch — dal is what 
the women-washers put into de neckerchers, and de shirt 
collar.” 

“ Starch !” echoed Ochiltree ; “ na, na, Mr. Duster- 
deevil, ye are mair of a conjuror than a clerk — it’s search, 
man, search — See, there’s the Ye clear and distinct.” 

“ Aha ! — I see it now — it is search — number one. 
Mein himmel, then there must be a number tivo, mein 
gcot friend ; for search is what you call to seek and dig 
and this is but number one ! — Mine wort, there is one 
great big prize in de wheel for us, goot Maister Ochiltree.’ 

“ Aweel, it maybe sae — but we canna bowk for’t enow 
— we hae nae shules, for they hae ta’en them a’ awa — 
and it’s like some o’ them will be sent back to fling the 
earth into the hole, and mak a’ things trig again. But 
an ye’ll sit down w\’ me a while in the wood, I’se satisfy 
your honour that ye hae just lighted on the only man in 
the country that could hae tauld about Malcolm Misticot 
and his hidden treasure — But first we’ll rub out the letters 
on this board for fear it tell tales.” 

And, by th*e assistance of his knife, the beggar erased 
and defaced the characters so as to make them quite un- 
intelligible, and then daubed the board with clay so as to 
obliterate all traces of the erasure. 

Dousterswivel stared at him in ambiguous silence. 
There was an intelligence and aiacrity about all the old 
man’s movements which indicated a person that could 
not be easily overreached, and yet (for even rogues ac- 
knowledge in some degree the spirit of precedence,) our 
adept felt the disgrace of playing a secondary part, and 
dividing winnings with so mean an associate. His appetite 
for gain, however, was sufficiently sharp to overpower his 
offended pride, and though far more an impostor than a 
dupe, he was not without a certain degree of personal 
faith even in the gross superstitions by means of which 
he imposed upon others. Still, being accustomed to act 
as a leader on such occasions he felt humiliated at feeling 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


31 


himself in the situation of a vulture marshalled to his 
prey by a carrion-crow. Let me, however, hear his 
story to an end, thought Doustcrswivel, and it will be 
hard if I do not make mine account in it better, as Maister 
Edie Ochiltrees makes proposes. 

The adept, thus transformed into a pupil from a teacher 
of the mystic art, followed Ochiltree in passive acquies- 
cence to the Prior’s Oak — a spot, as the reader may re- 
member, at a short distance from the ruins, where the 
German sat down, and in silence waited the old man’s 
communication. 

“ Maister Dustandsnivel,” said the narrator, “ it’s an 
unco while since I heard this businees treated anent — for 
the lairds of Knockwinnock, neither Sir Arthur, nor his 
father, nor his grandfather, and I mind a wee bit about 
them a’, liked to hear it spoken about — nor they dinna 
like it yet — but nae matter, ye may be sure it was clat- 
tered about in the kitchen, like onything else in a great 
house, though it were forbidden in the ha’ — and sae 1 hae 
heard the circumstance rehearsed by auld servants in the 
family ; and in thir present days, when things o’ that auld- 
warld sort arena keepit in mind round winter fire-sides 
as they used to be, I question if there’s ony body in the 
country can tell the tale but mysell — aye out-taken the 
laird though, for there’s a parchment book about it, as I 
have heard, in the charter-room at Knockwinnock Castle.” 

“ Well, all dat is vary well — but get you on with your 
stories, mine goot friend,” said Dousterswivel. 

“ Aweel, ye see,” continued the mendicant, “ this was 
a job in the auld times o’ rugging and riving through the 
hale country, when it was ilka ane for himsell, and God 
for us a’; when nae man wanted property if he had strength 
to take it, or had it langer than he had power to keep it. 
It was just he ower her, and she ower him, which ever 
could win upmost, a’ through the east country here, and 
nae doubt through the rest o’ Scotland in the self and 
same manner. 

“ Sae, in these days Sir Richard Wardour came into 
the land, and that was the first o’ the name ever was in 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


32 

this country. — There’s been mony o’ them sin’ syne ; 
and the maist, like him they ca’d Hell-in-Harness, and 
the rest o’ them, are sleeping down in yon ruins. They 
were a proud dour set o’ men, but unco brave, and aye 
stood up for the weel o’ the country, God sain them a’ — ► 
there’s no muckle popery in that wish. They ca’d them 
the Norman Wardours, though they cam frae the south 
to this country — So this Sir Richard, that they ca’d Red- 
hand, drew up wi’ the auld Knockwinnock o’ that day, 
for then they were Knockwinnocks of that ilk, and wad 
fain marry his only daughter, that was to have the castle 
and the land. Laith, laith was the lass — (Sibyl Knock- 
winnock they ca’d her that tauld me the tale) — ^laith, laith 
was she to gae into the match, for she had fa’en a wee 
ower thick wi’ a cousin o’ her ain that her father had some 
ill-will to, and sae it was, that after she had been married 
to Sir Richard jimp four months, — for marry him she 
maun it’s like, — ye’ll no hinder her gieing them a present 
o’ a bonny knave bairn. Then there was siccan a ca’- 
thro’, as the like was never seen ; and she’s be burnt, and 
he’s be slain, was the best words o’ their mouths. Rnt 
it was a’ sowdered up again some gait, and the bairn was 
sent awa, and bred up near the Highlands, and grew np 
to be a fine wanle fallow, like mony ane that comes o’ th.e 
wrang side o’ the blanket ; and Sir Richard wi’ the Red- 
hand, he had a fair offspring o’ his ain, and a’ was lound 
and quiet till his head was laid in the ground. But then 
down came Malcolm Misticot — (Sir Arthur says it should 
be Mishegot^ but they aye ca’d him Misticot that spoke 
o’t lang syne) — down came this Malcolm, the love-begot, 
frae Glen-isla, wi’ a string o’ lang-legged Highlanders at 
his heels, that’s aye ready for ony body’s mischief, and he 
threeps the castle and lands are his ain as his mother’s 
eldest son, and turns a’ the Wardours out to the h.lL 
There was a sort of fighting and blude-spilling about it, 
for the gentles took different sides; but Malcolm had the 
uppermost for a lang time, and keepit the castle of Knock- 
winnock, and strengthened it, and built that muckle tower, 
that they ca’ Misticot’s tower to this day.” 


TUB ANTK^UARY. 


39 


“ Mine goot friend, old Mr. Edie Ochiltree,” inter- 
rupted the German, “ tliis is all as one ’ike de long his- 
tories of a baron of sixteen quarters in mine countries; 
but I would as rather hear of de silver and gold.” 

“ Why, ye see,” continued the mendicant, “ this 
Malcolm was weel helped by an uncle, a brother o 
his father’s, that was Prior o’ St. Ruth here, and mucklo 
treasure they gathered between them, to secure the 
succession of their house in the lands of Knockwinnock 
— Folk said, that the monks in thae days had the art 

of multiplying metals at ony rate they were very 

rich. At last it came to this, that the young Wardour 
that was Red-hand’s son, challenged Misticot to fight with 
him in the lists as they ca’d them — that’s no lists or tailor’s 
runds and selvedges o’ claith, but a palin’-thing they set 
up for them to fight in like game-cocks. Aweel, Mis- 
ticot was beaten, and at his brother’s mercy — but he wad- 
na touch his life, for the blood of Knockwinnock that was 
in baith their veins : so Malcolm was compelled to turn a 
monk, and he died soon after in the priory, of pure des- 
pite and vexation. Naebody ever kend whare his uncle 
the prior earded him, or what he did wi’ his gowd and 
silver, for he stood on the right o’ halie kirk, and wad gie 
nae account to ony body. But the prophecy gat abroad 
in the country,* that whenever Misticot’s grave was fund 
out, the estate of Knockwinnock should be lost and won.” 

Ach, mine goot old friend, Maister Edie, and dat is 
not so very unlikely, if Sir Arthurs will quarrel wit his 
goot friends to please Mr. Oldenbuck — and so you do tink 
dat dis golds and silvers belonged to goot Mr. Malcolm 
Mishdigoat 

“ Troth do I, Mr. Dousterdeevil.” 

“ And you do believe dat dere is more of dat sorts 
behind 

“ By my certie do I — How can it be otherwise 9 — 
Search — JYo, 1 . — that is as muckle as to say, search and 
yc’ll find number twa — besides, yon kist is only silver, 
and I aye heard that IMisticot’s pose had muckle yellow 
gowd in’t ’ 


34 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


‘‘ Den, mine goot friends,” said the adept, jumping up 
hastily, “ why do we not set about our little job directly 9” 

“ For twa gude reasons,” answered the beggar, who 
quietly kept his sitting posture ; “ first, because, as I 
said before, we have naething to dig wi’, for they hae 
ta’en awa the picks and shools ; and, secondly, because 
there will be a wheen idle gowks coming to glower at the 
hole as lang as it is daylight, and maybe the laird may 
send somebody to fill it up — and ony way we wad be 
catched. But if you will meet me on this place attwal 
o’clock wi’ a dark lantern. I’ll hae tools ready, and we’ll 
gang quietly about our job our twa sells, and naebody the 
wiser for’t.” 

“ Be — be — but mine goot friend,” said Dousterswivol, 
from whose recollection his former nocturnal adventure 
was not to be , altogether erased, even by the splendid 
hopes which Edie’s narrative held forth, “ it is not so 
goot or so safe to be about goot Maister Mishdigoat’s 
grave at dat time of night — you have forgot how 1 told 
you de spirits did hone and moan dere. I do assure you, 
dere is disturbance dere.” 

“ If ye’re afraid of ghaists,” answered the mendicant, 
coolly, “ I’ll do the job mysell, and bring your share o’ 
the siller to ony place ye like to appoint.” 

“ No — no — mine excellent old Mr. Edie, — too much 
trouble for you — I will not have dat — I will come my- 
self — and it will be bettermost ; for, mine old friend, it 
was I, Herman Dousterswivel, discovered Maister Mish- 
digoat’s grave when I was looking for a place as to put 
away some little trumpery coins, just to play one little 
trick on my dear friend Sir Arthur, for a little sport and 
pleasures — yes, I did take some what you call rubbish, 
and did discover Maister Mishdigoat’s own monumentsh 
— It is like dat he meant I should be his heirs — so it 
would not be civility in me not to come mineself for mine 
inheritance.” 

“ At twal o’clock then,” said the mendicant, “ we meet 
under this tree — I’ll watch for a while, and see that nae- 
body meddles wi’ the grave — it’s only saying the lairds 


Tllli ANTK^UAIIY. 


35 


forbade it — then get my bit supper frae Ringan the poin- 
der up by, and leave to sleep in his barn, and I’ll slip 
out at night and ne’er be mist.” 

“ Do so, mine good Maister Edie, and I will meet you 
here on this very place, though all de spirits should moan 
and sneeze deir very brains out.” 

So saying, he shook hands with the old man, and, with 
this miitual pledge of fidelity to their appointment, they 
separated for the present. 


CHAPTER IV. 

——See thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding Abbots ; angels imprisoned . 

Set thou at libert}’ 

Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, 

If gold and silver beckon to come on 

King John. 

The night set in stormy, with wind and occasional 
showers of rain. “ Eh, sirs,” said the old mendicant, as 
ho took his place on the sheltered side of the large oak- 
tree to wait for his associate — “ Eh, sirs, but human na- 
ture’s a wilful and wilyard thing ! — is it not an unco lucre 
o’ gain wad bring this Dousterdivel out in a blast o’ wind 
like this, at twal o’clock at nig]it, to thir wild gousty wa’s ^ 
— and amna I a bigger fule than himsell to bide here 
waiting for him 

Having made these sage reflections, he wrapped him- 
self close in his cloak, and fixed his eye on the moon as 
she waded amid the stormy and dusky clouds, which the 
wind from time to time drove across her surface. The 
melancholy and uncertain gleams that she shot from be- 
tween the passing shadows fell full upon the rifted arches 
and shafted windows of the old building, which were thus 
for an instant made distinctly visible in their ruinous state 
and anon became again a dark, undistinguished, and shad- 
owy mass. The little lake had its share-of these transient 
13 


36 


THE ANT1Q,IIAIIT. 


Deams of light, and showed its waters broken, whitened 
and agitated under tfie passing storm, which, when the 
clouds swept over the moon, were only distinguished by 
their sullen and murmuring plash against the beach. The 
wooded glen repeated to every successive gust that hur- 
ried through its narrow trough, the deep and various 
groan with which the trees replied to the whirlwind, and 
the sound sunk , again, as the blast passed away,, into a 
faint and passing murmur, resembling the sighs of an ex 
hausted criminal after the first pangs of his torture are 
over. In these sounds, superstition might have found 
ample gratification for that state of excited terror which 
she fears and yet loves. But such feelings made no part 
of Ochiltree’s composition. His mind wandered back to 
the scenes of his youth. 

“ I have kept guard on the outposts baith in Germany 
and America,” he said to himself, “ in mony a waur night 
than this, and when I kend there was maybe' a dozen o’ 
their riflemen in the thicket before me. But I was aye 
gleg at my duty — naebody ever catched Edie sleeping.” 

As he muttered thus to himself, he instinctively should- 
ered his trusty pike-stafF, assumed the port of a sentinel 
on duty, and, as a step advanced towards the tree, called, 
with a tone assorting better with his military reminiscen- 
ces than his present state — “ Stand — who goes there 
“ De devil, goot Edie,” answered Dousterswivel, “ why 
does you speak so loud as a baarenhauter, or what you 
call a factionary — I mean a sentinel 

‘‘Just because! thought! was a sentinel at that moment,” 
answered the mendicant. “ Here’s an awsome night — • 
hae ye brought the lantern and a pock for the siller 
“ Ay — ay — mine goot friend,” said the German, “ here 
it is — my pair of what you call saddlebag — one side will 
be for you, and one side for me — I will put dem on my 
horse to save you de trouble, as you are old man.” 

“ Have you a horse here, then ?” asked Edie Ochiltree. 
“ O yes, mine friend, tied yonder by de stile,” respond- 
ed the adept. 

“ Weel, I iiae just ae word to the bargain — there sail 
nane o’ my gear gang on your beast's back.” 


TIIK ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


37 


** What was it as you would be afraid of ?” said the 
foreigner. 

“ Only of losing sight of horse, man, and money,” 
again replied the gaherlunzie. 

“ Does you know dat you make one gentlemans out to 
be one great rogue 

“ Mony gentlemen,!’ replied Ochiltree, “ can make 
that 01 ^ for themselves — but what’s the sense of quarrel- 
ling 5f ye want to gang on, gang on — if no. I’ll gae 
back to the gude ait-straw in Ringan Aikwood’s barn that 
I left wi’ right ill-will enow, and I’ll pit back the pick and 
shool whar I got them.” 

Dousterswivel deliberated a moment, whether, by suf- 
ering Edie to depart, he might not secure the whole of 
the expected wealth for his own exclusive use. But the 
want of digging implements, the uncertainty whether, if he 
had them, he could clear out the grave to a sufficient depth 
without assistance, and, above all, the reluctance which 
lie felt, owing to the experience of the former night, to 
venture alone on the terrors of Misticot’s grave, satisfied 
him the attempt would be hazardous. Endeavouring, 
therefore, to assume his usual cajoling tone, though inter- 
nally incensed, he begged his goot friend Maister Edie 
Ochiltree would lead the way, and assured him of his ac- 
quiescence in all such an excellent friend could propose.” 

“ Aweel, aweel, then,” said Edie, “ tak gude care o’ 
your feet amang the lang grass and the loose stanes — 1 
wish we may get the light keepit in neist wi’ this fear- 
some wind — but there’s a blink o’ moonlight at times ” 

Thus saying, old Edie, closely accompanied by the 
adept, led the way toward the ruins, but presently made 
a full halt in front.of them. 

“ Ye’re a learned man, Mr. Dousterdeevil, and ken 
muckle o’ the marvellous works o’ nature — now will ye 
tell me ae thing 9 — D’ye believe in ghaists and spirits that 
walk tlie earth ? — d’ye believe in them, ay, or no ?” 

“ Now, goot Mr. Edie,” whispered Dousterswivel, in 
an expostuvdry tone of voice, “ is this a times or a places 
for such a questions ?” 

VOL. II. 


38 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


“ Indeed is it, baith the tane and the tother, Mr. Dust- 
anshovel ; for I maun fairly tell ye, there’s reports that 
aiild Misticot walks. Now this wad be an uncanny night 
to meet him in, and wha kens if he wad be owerweel 
pleased wi’ our purpose of visiting his pose 9” 

jllle guter giester” — muttered the adept, the rest oi 
the conjuration being lost in a tremulous warble of his 
voice, — I do desires you not to speak so, Edie, 
for, from all I heard dat one other night, I do much be- 
lieves” — 

“ Now I,” said Ochiltree, entering the chancel and 
flinging abroad his arm with an air of defiance, “ I wadna 
gie the crack o’ my thumb for him where he to appear at 
this moment — he’s but a disembodied spirit as we are 
embodied anes.” 

‘‘ For the lofe of heavens,” said Dousterswivel, ‘‘ say 
nothing at all neither about somebodies or nobodies !” 

‘‘ Aweel,” said the beggar, (expanding the shade ot 
the lantern,) “ here’s the stane, and spirit or no spirit, I’se 
be a wee bit deeper in the grave” — and he jumped into 
the place from which the precious chest had that morning 
been removed. After stj iking a few strokes, he tired, or 
affected to tire, and said to his companion, “ I’m auld 
and failed now, and canna keep at it — Time about’s fair 
play, neighbour — ye maun get in and tak the shule a bit, 
and shule out the loose earth, and then I’ll tak turn about 
wi’ you.” 

Dousterswivel accordingly took the place which the 
Deggar had evacuated, and toiled with all the zeal that 
awakened avarice, mingled with the anxious wish to finish 
the undertaking and leave the place as soon as possible, 
could inspire in a mind at once greedy, suspicious, and 
timorous. 

Edie, standing much at his ease by the side of the 
hole, contented himself with exhorting his associate to la- 
bour hard. “ My certie ! few ever wrought for siccan a 
day’s wage ; an it be but — say the tenth part o’ the size 
o’ the kist No. I., it will double its value, being filled wi 
gowd instead o’ silver. — Odd, ye work as if ye had been 


THE ANTK^irARY. 


39 


bred to pick and shule — ye could win your round half- 
crown ilka day. Tak care o’ your taes wi’ that stane!’' 
giving a kick to a large one which the adept had heaved 
out with difficulty, and which Edie pushed back again, to 
the great annoyance of his associate’s shins. 

Thus exhorted by the mendicant, Dousterswivel strug- 
gled and laboured among the stones and stiff clay, toiling 
like a horse, and internally blaspheming in German. 
When such an unhallowed syllable escaped his lips, Edie 
changed his battery upon him. 

“ O dinna swear, dinna swear ! — wha kens wha’s listen- 
ing ! — Eh ! gude guide us, what’s yon ’ — Hout, it’s just 
a branch of ivy flightering awa frae the wa’ ; when the 
moon was in, it lookit unco like a dead man’s arm wi’ 
a taper in’t 5 I thought it w^as Misticot himsell. But 
never mind, work you away — fling the earth weel up by 
out o’ the gate — odd, if ye’re no as clean a worker at a 
grave as Will Winnett himsell ! What gars ye stop now ^ 
— ye’re just at the very bit for a chance.” 

‘‘ Stop !” said the German, in a tone of anger and dis- 
appointment, “ why, I am down at de rocks dat de 
cursed ruins (God forgife me !) is founded upon.” 

“ Weel,” said the beggar, “ that’s the likeliest bit ol 
ony — it will be but a muckle through-stane laid down to 
kiver the gowd ; tak the pick till’t, and pit mair strength, 
man — ae gude downright devvel will split it, Fse warrant 

ye Ky, that will do — Odd, he comes on wi’ Wallace’s 

slraiks !” 

In fact, the adept, moved by Edie’s exhortations, 
fetched two or three desperate blows, and succeeded in 
breaking, not indeed that against which he struck, which, 
as he had already conjectured, was the solid rock, but the 
implement which he wielded, jarring at the same time his 
arms up to the shoulder-blades. 

Hurra, boys !■ — there goes Ringan’s pick-axe !” cried 
Edie ; “ it’s a shame o’ the Fairport folk to sell siccan 
frail gear. Try the shule — at it again, Mr. Duster- 
deevil.” 


40 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


The adept, without reply, scrambled out of the pit, 
which was now about six feet deep, and addressed his 
associate in a voice that trembled with anger. “ Does 
you know, Mr. Edies Ochiltrees, who it is you put off 
your gibes and your jests upon 

‘‘ Brawly, Mr. Dusterdeevil — brawly do I ken ye, and 
has done mony a day ; but there’s nae jesting in the case, 
for I am wearying to see a’ our treasures ; we should 
have had baith ends o’ the pockmanky filled by this time 
— I hope it’s bowk eneugh to baud a’ the gear.” 

“ Look you, you base old person,” said the incensed 
philosopher, “ if you do put another jest upon me, I will 
cleave your skull-piece with this shovels !” 

“ And whare wad ray hands and my pike-staflf be a’ the 
time ?” replied Edie, in a tone that indicated no apprehen- 
sion. “ Hout, tout, Maister Dusterdeevil, I haena lived 
sae lang in the warld neither, to be shuled out o’t that 
gate. What ails ye to be cankered, man, wi’ your 
friends ^ I’ll wager I’ll find out the treasure in a min- 
ute ;” and he jumped into the pit and took up the spade. 

‘‘ I do swear to you,” said the adept, whose suspi- 
cions were now fully awake, “ that if you have played 
me one big trick, I will give you one big beating, Mr. 
Edies.” 

“ Hear till him now,” said Ochiltree ; “ he kens how 
to gar folk find out the gear — Odd, I’m thinking he’s been 
drilled that way himsell some day.” 

At this insinuation, which alluded obviously to the for- 
mer scene betwixt himself and Sir Arthur, the philoso- 
pher lost the slender remnant of patience he had left, and 
being of violent passions, heaved up the truncheon of the 
broken mattock to discharge it upon the old man’s head. 
The blow would in all probability have been fatal, had 
not he at whom it was aimed exclaimed in a stern and firm 
voice, “ Shame to ye, man ! — Do ye think Heaven or 
earth will suffer ye to murder an auld man that might be 
your father ^ — Look behind ye, man.” 

Dousterswivel turned instinctively, and beheld, to his 
utter astonishment, a tall dark figure standing close be- 
hind him. The apparition gave him no time to proceerl 


T!I r, A X T I !iU A 11 Y . il 

by exorcism or otherwise, hut having instantly recourse tc 
the iwie de fait, took measure of the adept’s Slioulders 
three or four times with blows so substantial, that he fell 
under the weight of them, and remained senseless for 
some minutes between fear and stupefaction. When he 
came to himself, he was alone in the ruined chancel, lying 
upon the soft and damp earth which had been thrown out 
of Misticot’s grave. He raised himself with a confused 
sensation of anger, pain, and terror, and it was not until he 
had sat upright for some minutes that he could arrange his 
ideas sufficiently to recollect how he came there, or with 
what purpose. As his recollection returned, he could 
have little doubt that the bait held out to him by Ochil- 
tree to bring him to that solitary spot, the sarcasms by 
which he had ^provoked him into a quarrel, and the ready 
assistance which he had at hand for terminating it in the 
manner in which it had ended, were all parts of a concert- 
ed plan to bring disgrace and damage on Herman Dous- 
terswivel. He could hardly suppose that he was indebt- 
ed for the fatigue, anxiety, and beating which he had 
undergone, purely to the malice of Edie Ochiltree 
singly, but concluded that the mendicant had acted a part 
assigned to him by some person of greater importance. 
His suspicions hesitated between Oldbuck and Sir Arthur 
Wardour. The former had been at no pains to conceal 
a marked dislike of him — but the latter he had deeply 
injured ; and although he judged that Sir Arthur did 
not know the extent of his wrongs towards him, yet it 
was easy to suppose he had gathered enough of the 
truth to make him desirous of revenge. Ochiltree had 
alluded to at least one circumstance wdiich the adept had 
every reason to suppose was private between Sir Arthur 
and himself, and therefore must have been learned from 
the former. The language of Oldbuck also intimated a 
conviction of his knavery, which Sir Arthur heard without 
making any animated defence. Lastly, the way in which 
Dousterswivel supposed the Baronet to have exercised his 
revenge, was not inconsistent with the practice of other 

VOL. IT. 


42 


THE ANTIC^UARY. 


countries with which the adept w^as better acquainted 
than with those. of North Britain. With him, as with 
many bad men, to suspect an injury, and to nourish the 
purpose of revenge, was one and the same movement. 
And before Dousterswivel had fairly recovered his legs, 
he had mentally sworn the ruin of his benefactor, which, 
unfortunately, he possessed too much the power of accel- 
erating. 

But although a purpose of revenge floated through his 
brain, it was no time to indulge such speculations. The 
hour, the place, his own situation, and perhaps the pres- 
ence or near neighbourhood of his assailants, made self- 
preservation the adept’s first object. The lantern had 
been thrown down and extinguished in the scuffle. The 
wind, which formerly howled so loudly through the aisles 
of the ruin, had now greatly fallen, lulled by the rain 
which was descending very fast. The moon, from the 
^ame cause, was totally obscured, and though Douster- 
swivel had some experience of the ruins, and knew that 
he must endeavour to regain the eastern door of the 
chancel, yet the confusion of his ideas was such, that he 
hesitated for some time ere he could ascertain in what 
direction he was’to seek it. In this perplexity, the sug- 
gestions of superstition taking the advantage of darkness 
and his evil conscience, began again to present them- 
selves to his disturbed imagination. “ But bah !” quoth 
he valiantly to himself, “ it is all nonsense — all one part 
of de damn big trick and imposture. Devil ! that one 
thick-sculled Scotch Baronet, as I have led by the nose 
for five year, should cheat Herman Dousterswivel !” 

As he had come to this conclusion, an incident occurred 
which tended greatly to shake the grounds on which he 
had adopted it. Amid the melancholy sough of the dying 
wind, and the plash of tlie rain-drops on leaves and 
stones, arose, and apparently at no great distance from the 
listener, a strain of vocal music so sad and solemn, as if 
the departed spirits of the churchmen who had once in- 
nabited these deserted ruins, were mourning the solitude 
and desolation to which their hallowed precincts had been 


THE ANTIQ,UAllY. 


43 


abandoned. Dousterswivel, who had now got upon his 
feet, and was groping around the wall of the chancel, 
stood rooted to the ground on the occurrence of this new 
phenomenon. Each faculty of his soul seemed for the 
moment concentred in the sense of hearing, and all 
rushed back with the unanimous information, that the 
deep, wild, and prolonged chant which he now heard, 
was the appropriate music of one of the most solemn 
dirges of the church of Rome. Why performed in such 
a solitude, and by what class of choristers, were questions 
which the terrified imagination of the adept, stirred with 
all the German superstitions of nixies, oak-kings, wer- 
wolves, hobgoblins, black spirits and white, blue spirits 
and grey, durst not even attempt to solve. 

Another of his senses was soon engaged in the inves- 
tigation. At the extremity of one of the transepts ot 
the church, at the bottom of a few descending steps, was 
a small iron-grated door, opening, as far as he recollected, 
to a sort of low vault or sacristy. As he cast his eye in 
the direction of the sound, he observed a strong reflec- 
tion of red light glimmering through these bars, and 
against the steps which descended to them. Douster- 
swivel stood a moment uncertain what to do ; then, sud- 
denly forming a desperate resolution, he moved down the 
aisle to the place from which the light proceeded. 

Fortified with the sign of the cross, and as many exor- 
cisms as his memory could recover, he advanced to the 
grate, from which, unseen, he could see what passed m 
the interior of the vault. As he approached with timid 
and uncertain steps, the chant, after one or two wild and 
prolonged cadences, died away into profound silence. 
The grate, when he reached it, presented a sn gular 
spectacle in the interior of the sacristy. An open grave, 
with four tall flambeaus, each about six feet high, placed 
at the four corners — a bier, having a corpse in its shroud, 
the arms folded upon the breast, rested upon tressels at 
one side of the grave, as if ready to be interred — A priest 
dressed in his cope and stole, held open the service book 
— another churchman in his vestments bore a hoiy-water 


44 


THE ANTI All Y. 


sprinkler — and two boys in white surplices held censers 
with incense — a man, of a figure once tall and command- 
ing, but now bent with age or infirmity, stood alone and 
nearest to the coffin, attired in deep mourning — Such 
were the most prominent figures of the group. At a 
little distance were two or three persons of both sexes, 
attired in long mourning hoods and cloaks ; and five or 
six others in the same lugubrious dress, still farther re- 
moved from the body, around the walls of the vault, 
stood ranged in motionless order, each bearing in his hand 
a huge torch of black wax. The smoky light from so 
many flambeaus, by the red and indistinct atmosphere 
which if spread around, gave a hazy, dubious, and, as it 
were, phantom-like appearance to the outlines of this 
singular apparition. The voice of the priest — loud, 
clear, and sonorous, now recited from the breviary which 
he held in his hand, those solemn words which the ritual 
of the Catholic church has consecrated to the rendering 
of dust to dust. Meanwhile, Dousterswivel, the place, 
the hour, and the surprise considered, still remained un- 
certain, whether what he saw was substantial, or an un- 
earthly representation of the rites, to which, in former 
times, these walls were familiar, but which are* now 
rarely practised in Protestant countries, and almost never 
in Scotland. He was uncertain whether to abide the 
conclusion of the eeremony, or to endeavour to regain the 
chancel, when a change in his position made him visible 
through the grate to one of the attendant mourners. 
The person who first espied him, indicated his discovery 
to the individual who stood apart and nearest to the coffin 
by a sign, and upon his making a sign in reply, two of the 
group detached themselves, and, gliding along with noise- 
less steps, as if fearing to disturb the service, unlocked 
and opened the grate which separated them from the 
adept. Each took him by an arm, and exerting a degree 
of force, which he would have been incapable of resisting, 
had his fear permitted him to attempt opposition, they 
placed him on the ground in the chancel, and sat down 
one on each side of him, as if to detain him. Satisfied 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


45 


he was in the power of mortals like himself, the adept 
would have put some questions to them ; but while one 
pointed to the vault, from which the sound of the priest’s 
voice was distinctly heard, the other placed his finger upon 
his lips in token of silence, a hint which the German 
thought it most prudent to obey. And thus they detained 
him until a loud Alleluia, pealed through the deserted 
arches of St. Ruth, closed the singular ceremony which 
it had been his fortune to witness. 

When the hymn had died aw'ay with all its echoes, the 
voice of one of the sable personages under whose, guard 
the adept had remained, said, in a familiar tone and dia- 
lect, “ Dear sirs, Mr. Dousterswivel, is this you could 
not ye have let us ken an ye had wussed till hae been 
present at the ceremony ? — My lord couldna tak it weel 
your coming blinking and jinking in, in that fashion.” 

“ In de name of all dat is gootness, tell me what you 
are 9” interrupted the German in his turn. 

‘‘ What I am 9 why, wha should I be but Ringau 
Aikwood, the Knockwinnock poinder 9 — And what are 
ye doing here at this time o’ night, unless ye were come 
to attend the leddy’s burial 

“ I do declare to you, mine goot Poinder Aikwood,” 
said the German, raising himself up, “ that I have been 
this vary nights murdered, robbed, and put in fears of 
my life.” 

“ Robbed ! wha wad do sic a deed here 9 — Murder- 
ed ! odd, ye speak pretty blithe for a murdered man. 
Put in fear ! what put you in fear, Mr. Dousterswivel V' 

“ I wall tell you, Maister Poinder Aikwood Ringan, 
just dat old miscreant dog villain blue-gown, as you call 
Edie Ochiltrees.” 

“ I’ll ne’er believe that,” answered Ringan ; ‘‘ Edie 
was kend to me, and my father before me, for a true, 
loyai, and soothfast man ; and, mair by token, he’s sleep 
ing up yonder in our barn, and has been since ten at e’en 
— Sae touch ye wha liket, Mr. Dousterswivel, and wheth- 
er ouy body touched ye or no, I’m sure Edie’s sackless.’ 


46 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


Maister Ringan Aikwood Poinders, I do not know 
what you call sackless, but let alone all de oils and de 
soot dat you say he has, and I will tell you I was dis night 
robbed of fifty pounds by your oil and soo^ friend, Edies 
Ochiltree ; and he is no more in your barn even now dan 
I ever shall be in de kingdom of heafen.” 

“ Weel, sir, if ye will gae up wi’ me, as the burial 
company has dispersed, we’se mak ye down a bed at the 
lodge, and we’se see if Edie’s at the barn. There were 
twa wild-looking chaps left the auld kirk when we were 
coming up wi’ the corpse, that’s certain; and the priest, 
wha likes ill that ony heretics should look on at our 
church ceremonies, sent twa o’ the riding saulies after 
them, sae we’ll hear a’ about it frae them.” 

’Thus speaking, the kindly apparition, with the assist- 
ance of the mute personage, wdid was his son, disencum- 
bered himself of his cloak, and prepared to escort Dous- 
terswivel to the place of that rest which the adept so 
much needed. 

I will apply to the magistrates to-morrow,” said the 
adept ; “ oder, I will have de law put in force against all 
de peojfies.” 

While he thus muttered vengeance against the cause 
of his injury, he tottered from among the ruins, support- 
ing himself on Ringan and his son, whose assistance his 
state of weakness rendered very necessary. 

When they were clear of the priory, and had gained 
the little meadow in which it stands, Dousterswivel could 
perceive the torches which had caused him so much alarm 
issuing in irregular procession from the ruins, and glanc- 
ing their light, like that of the ignis fatuus, on the banks 
of the lake. After moving along the path for some short 
space with a fluctuating and irregular motion, the lights 
were at once extinguished. 

“ We aye put out the torches at the hailie-cross well 
on sic occasions,” said the forester to his gue«t ; and 
accordingly no farther visible sign of the procession 
offered itself to Dousterswivel, although his ear could 


THE ANTIQ,UAHY. 


47 


catch the distant and decreasing eclio of horses’ hoofs in 
the direction towards which the mourners had hent their 
course. 


CHAPTER V. 

O weel may the boatie row, 

And better may sIjc speed, 

And weel may the boatie row 
That earns the bairnies' bread. 

The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows fu’ wee!, 

And liglilsome be their life that bear 
The merlin and the creel. 

Ohl Ballad. 

We must now introduce our reader to the interior 
of the fisher’s cottage mentioned in chapter eleventh of 
this edifying history. I wish 1 could say that its inside 
was well arranged, decently furnisl ed, or tolerably clean. 
On the contrary, I am compelled to admit, there was con- 
fusion — there was dilapidation, — there was dirt good store. 
Yet, with all this, there was about the inmates, Luckie 
Mucklebackit- and her family, an appearance of ease, 
plenty, and comfort, that seemed to warrant their own 
sluttish proverb, “ The clartier the cosier.” A huge fire, 
though the season was summer, occupied the hearth, and 
served at once for affording light, heat, and the means of 
preparing food. The fishing had been successful, and 
the family, with customary improvidence, had, since un- 
fading the cargo, continued an unremitting operation of 
broiling and frying that part of the produce reserved for 
home consumption, and the bones and the fragments lay • 
on the wooden trenchers, mingled with morsels of broken 
bannocks and shattered mugs of half-drunk beer. The 
stout and athletic form of Slaggie herself, bustling here 
and there among a pack of half-grown girls and younger 


43 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


children, of whom she chucked one now t ere and another 
now there, with an exclamation of “ Get out o’ the gate, 
ye little sorrow !” was strongly contrasted with the passive 
and half stupified look and manner of her husband’s 
mother, a woman advanced to the last stage of human life, 
who was seated in her wonted chair close by the fire, the 
warmth of which she coveted, yet hardly seemed to be 
sensible of, now muttering to herself, now^ smiling vacant- 
ly to the children as they pulled the strings of her toy or 
close cap, or twitched her blue checked apron. With 
her distaff in her bosom, and her spindle in her hand, she 
plied lazily and mechanically the old-fashioned Scottish 
thrift, according to the old-fashioned Scottish manner. 
The younger children, crawling among the feet of the 
elder, watched the progress of grannie’s spindle as it 
twisted, and now and then ventured to interrupt its pro- 
gress as it danced upon the floor in those vagaries which 
the more regulated spinning-wheel has now so universally 
superseded, that even the fated Princess of the fairy tale 
might roam through all Scotland without the risk of pierc- 
ing her hand with a spindle, and dying of the wound. 
Late as the hour was, (and it was long past midnight) the 
whole family were still on foot, and far from proposing to 
go to bed ; the dame was still busy broiling car-cakes 
on the girdle, and the elder girl, the half-naked mermaid 
elsewhere commemorated, was preparing a pile of Find- 
horn haddocks, (that is, haddocks smoked with green 
w^ood) to be eaten along with these relishing provisions. 

While they were thus employed, a slight tap at the 
door, accompanied with the question, “ Are ye up yet, 
sirs T’ announced a visiter. The answer, ‘‘ Ay, ay, — 
come your ways ben, hinny,” occasioned the lifting of the 
latch, and Jenny Rintherout, the female domestic of our 
Antiquary, made her appearance. 

“ Ay, ay,” exclaimed the mistress of the family, — 
“ hegh, sirs ! can this be you, Jenny a sight o’ you’s 
gude for sair een, lass.” 

“ O, woman, we’ve been sae ta’en !ip wi’ Captain Hr>c- 
tor’s wound up by, that 1 havena had my fit out ower the floor 


THE ANTIQ,UAR> 


49 


this fortnight ; but he’s better now, and auld Caxon sleeps 
in his room in case he wanted onything. Sae, as soon as 
our auld folk gaed to bed, I e’en snooded my head up a 
bit, and left the house-door on the latch, in case ony body 
should be Wanting in or out while I was aWa, and just cam 
down the gate to see an’ there was ony cracks amang ye.” 

‘‘ Ay, ay,” answered Luckie Mucklebackit, “ I sec 
ye hae gotten a’ your braws on — ye’re looking about for 
Steenie now — but he’s no at hame the night — and ye’ll 
no do for Steenie, lasi- — a feckless thing like you’s no fit 
to mainteena man.” 

“ Steenie will no do for me,” retorted Jenny, with a 
toss of her head that might have become a higher-horn 
damsel, — “ I maun hae a man that can mainteenhis wife.” 

“ Ou ay, hinny — thae’s your landward and burrows- 
town notions. My certie ! fisher-wives ken better — they 
keep the man, and keep the house, and keep the siller 
too, lass.” 

. “ A wheen poor drudges ye are,” answered the nymph 

of the land to the nymph of the sea. — “ As sune as the 
keel o’ the coble touches the sand, deil a bit mair will the 
lazy fisher loons work, but the wives maun kilt their coats, 
and wade into the surf to tak the fish ashore. And then 
the man casts aff the wat and puts on the dry, and sits 
down wi’ his pipe and his gill-stoup ahint the ingle, like 
ony auld houdie, and ne’er a turn will he do till the coble’s 
afloat again ! — And the wife, she maun get the scull on 
her back, and awa wi’ the fish to the next burrows-town, 
and scauld and ban wi’ ilka wife that will scauld and ban 
tvi’ her till it’s sauld — and that’s the gait fisher- wives live, 
puir slaving bodies.” 

“ Slaves gae wa’, lass ! — Ca’ the head o’ the house 
slaves ^ little ye ken about it, lass — show me a word my 
Saunders daur speak, or a turn he daur do about the 
house, without it be just to tak his meat, and his drink, 
and his diversion like ony o’ the weans. He has mail- 
sense than to ca’ ony thing about the bigging his ain, frae 
the rooftree down to a cracket trencher on the bink. He 


VOL. II 


5a 


TIIK AXTiqUAin. 


kens wee] eneugh wlia feeds him and deeds him, and 
keeps a’ tight, thack and rape, when his coble is jowing 
awa in the Firth, puir fallow. Na, na, lass — them that 
sell the goods guide the purse — them that guide the purse 
rule the house — show me ane o’ your bits o’ farmer- 
bodies that wad let their wife drive the stock to the mar- 
ket, and ca’ in the debts. Na, na.”^ 

“ Aweel, aweel, Maggie, ilka land bas its ain lauch — 
but where’s Steenie the night, when a’s come and gane f 
And where’s the gudeman 

“ 1 hae puttin’ the gudeman to his bed, for he was e’en 
sair forfairn, and Steenie’s awa out about some barns- 
breaking wi’ the auld gaberlunzie, Edie Ochiltree — they’ll 
be in sune, and ye can sit doun.” 

“ Troth, gudewife, (taking a seat,) I haena that muckle 
time to stop — but I maun tell ye about the new's — Ye’ll 
hae heard o’ the muckle kist o’ gowd that Sir Arthur has 
fund down by at St. Ruth 9 — He’ll be grander than 
ever now — he’ll no can baud down his head to sneeze, • 
for fear o’ seeing his shoon.” 

“ Ou ay a’ the country’s heard o’. that ; but auld 

Edie says they ca’ it ten times mair than ever was o’t, 
and he saw them howk it up. Odd, it would be lang or 
a puir body that needed it got sic a windfa’.” 

‘‘ Na, that’s sure eneugh. — And ye’ll hae heard o’ the 
Countess o’ Glenallan being dead and lying in state, and 
how she’s to be buried at St. Ruth’s as this night fa’s, wi’ 
torch-light ; and a’ the papists servants, and Ringan Aik- 
wood, that’s a papist too, are to be there, and it will be 
the grandest show ever was seen.” 

“ Troth, hinny,” answered the Nereid, “ if they let 
naebody but papists come there, it’ll no be muckle o’ a 
show in this country ; for the auld harlot, as honest Mr, 
Blattergowl ca’s her, has few that drink o’ her cup of 
enchantments in this corner of our chosen lands. — But 
what can ail them to bury the auld carlin (a rudas wife 
she was) in the night time — 1 dare say our gudemithei 
will ken.” 


THE ANTIC^UARY. 


53 


Here she exalted her voice, and exclaimed twice oi 
thrice, “ Gudemither ! gudemither !” but, lost in the ap- 
athy of age and deafness, the aged sibyl she addressed 
continued plying her spindle without understanding the 
appeal made to her. 

‘‘ Speak to your grandmither, Jenny — odd, I wad rather 
hail the coble half a mile aff, and the nor-wast wind 
whistling again in my teeth.” 

“ Grannie,” said the little mermaid, in a voice to which 
the old woman was better accustomed, “ minnie wants to 
ken what for the Glenallan folk aye bury by candle-light 
in the ruins of St. Ruth 

The old woman paused in the act of twirling the spindle, 
turned round to the rest of the party, lifted her withered, 
trembling, and clay-coloured hand, raised up her aslien- 
hue’d and wrinkled face, wdiich the quick motion of 
two light-blue eyes chiefly distinguished from the visage 
of a corpse, and, as if catching at any touch of associa- 
tion with the living world, answered, “ What gars the 
Glenallan family inter their dead by torch-light, said the 
lassie 9 — Is there a Glenallan dead e’en now 9” 

“ We might be a’ dead and buried too,” said Maggie, 
“ for onything ye wad ken about it ;” — and then, raising 
her voice to the stretch of her mother-in-law’s compre- 
hension, she added, “ It’s the auld Countess, gude- 
inither.” 

“ And is she ca’d hame then at last?” said the old w^o - 
man, in a voice that seemed to be agitated with much 
more feeling than belonged^ to her extreme old age, and 
the general indifference and apathy of her manner — “ is 
she then called to her last account after her lang race o’ 
pride and power 9 — O God forgie her !” 

“ But minnie was asking ye,” resumed the lesser 
querist, “ what for the Glenallan family aye bury their 
dead by torch-light 9” 

‘ They hae aye dune sae,” said the grandmother, 
since the time the Great Earl fell in the sair battle o’ 
die Harlaw', when they say the coronach was cried in a. 3 
day from the mouth o’ the Tay to the Buck of the Ca- 


62 


THE ANTIQ,TJARY. 


brach, that ye wad hae heard nae other sound but that of 
lamentation for the great folks that had fa’en fighting 
against Donald of the Isles. But the Great Earl’s mither 
was living — they were a doughty and a dour race the 
w'omen o’ the house o’ Glenallan — and she wad hae nae 
coronach cried for her son, but had him laid in the silence 
o’ midnight in his place o’ rest, without either drinking 
ihe dirge, or crying the lament. She said he had killed 
enow that day he died, for the widows and daughters o’ 
the Highlanders he had slain to cry the coronach for them 
they had lost and for her son too; and sae she laid him in 
his grave wi’ dry eyes, and without a groan or a wail — 
And it was thought a proud word o’ the family, and they 
aye stickit by it — and the mair in the latter times, because 
in the night-time they had mair freedom to perform their 
popish ceremonies by darkness a^id in secrecy than in the 
daylight — at least that was the case in my time — they 
wad hae been disturbed in the^day-time baith by the law 
and the “commons of Fairport^ — they may be ower- 
looked now, as I have heard — the warld’s changed — I 
whiles hardly ken whether I am standing or sitting, or 
dead or living.” 

And looking round the fire, as if in the state of un- 
conscious uncertainty of which'^he complained, old Els- 
peth relapsed into her habitual and mechanical occupa- 
tion of twirling the spindle. 

“ Eh, sirs !” said Jenny Rintherout, under her breath 
to her gossip, “ it’s awsome to hear your gudemither 
break out in that gait — it’s like the dead speaking to the 
living.” 

“ Ye’re no that far wTang, lass ; she minds naething 
o’ what passes the day — but set her on auld tales, and she 
can speak like a prent buke. She kens mair about the 
Glenallan family than maist folk — the gudeman’s father 
was their fisher mony a day. Ye maun ken the papists 
make a great point o’ eating fish — it’s nae bad part o’ 
their religion that, whatever the rest is — I could aye sell 
the best o’ fish at the best o’ prices for the Countess’s ain 
table, grace be wi’ her ! especially on a Friday — But see 
as our gudemither’s hands and lips are ganging — now' its 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


63 


working in her head like harm — she’ll speak eneugh the 
niglu — whiles she’ll no speak a word in a week, unless it 
be to the bits o’ bairns.” 

“ Hegh, Mrs. Mucklebackit, she’s an awsome wife !” 
said Jenny in reply. “ D’ye think she’s a’thegither right ? 
— Folk says she downa gang to the kirk, or speak to ilie 
minister, and that she was ance a papist ; but since her 
gudeman’s been dead naebody kens what she is — d’ye 
think yoursell, that she’s no uncanny 

“ Canny, ye silly tawpie ! think ye ae auld wife’s less 
canny than anither ? unless it be Allison Breck — I really 
couldna in conscience swear for her — I have kent the 

boxes she set filled wi’ partans, when” 

“ Whisht, whisht, Maggie,” whispered Jenny, “ your 
gudemither’s gaun to speak again.” 

“ Wasna there some ane o’ ye said,” asked the old si- 
byl, ‘‘ or did I dream, or was it revealed to me, that 
Joscelind, Lady Glenallan, is dead, an’ buried this night V' 
“ Yes, gudemither,” screamed the daughter-in-law, 
‘‘ it’s e’en sae.” 

“ And e’en sae let it be,” said old Elspeth ; “ she’s 
made mony a sair heart in her day — ay, e’en her ain 
son’s — is he living yet 9” 

‘‘ Ay, he’s living yet — but how lang he’ll live — how- 
ever, dinna ye mind his coming and asking after you in 
the spring, and leaving siller 9” 

“ It may be sae, Maggie — 1 dinna mind it — but a 
handsome gentleman he was, and his father before him. 
Eh ! if his father had lived, they might hae been happy 
folk ! — But he was gane, and the lady carried it in-ower 
and out-ower wi’ her son, and garr’d him trow the thing 
he never suld hae trowed, and do the thing he has re- 
pented a’ his life, and will repent still, were his life as 
lang as this lang and w’earisome ane o’ mine.” 

“ O what w^as it, grannie — and “ What was it, glide- 
mither 9” — and “ What was it, Luckie Elspeth asked 
the children, the mother, and the visiter, in one breath 

VOL. II. 


54 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


“ Never ask what it was,” answered the old sibyl 
“ but pray to God that ye arena left to the pride and wib 
fu’ness o’ your ain hearts. They may be as powerful in 
a cabin as in a castle — I can bear a sad witness to that. — ■ 
O that weary and fearfu’ night ! will it never gang out o’ 
my auld head ^ — Eh ! to see her lying on the floor wi’ 
her lang hair dreeping wi’ the salt water ! — Heaven will 
avenge on a’ that had to do wi’t. — Sirs ! is my son out 
wi’ the coble this windy e’en ?” 

“ Na, na, mither — nae coble can keep the sea this wind 
— he’s sleeping in his bed out ower yonder ahint the 
hallan.” 

‘‘ Is Steenie out at sea, then 

“ Na, grannie — Steenie’s awa out wi’ auld Edie Och- 
iltree, the gaberlunzie — maybe they’ll be gaun to see the 
burial.” 

“ That canna be,” said the motlier of the family, — 
“ we kent naething o’t till Jock Rand cam in, and tauld 
us the Aikwoods had warning to attend ; they keep thae 
things unco private, and they were to bring the corpse 
a’ the way frae the castle, ten miles off, under cloud o’ 
night. She has lain in state these ten days at Glenallan- 
house, in a grand chamber, a’ hung wi’ black, and lighted 
wi’ wax cannle.” 

“ God assoilzie her !” ejaculated old Elspeth, her head 
apparently still occupied by the event of the Countess’s 
death — “ She was a hard-hearted woman, but she’s ga’en 
to account for it a’, and His mercy is infinite — God grant 
she may find it sae !” — And she relapsed into silence, 
which she did not break again during the rest of the 
evening. 

“ I wonder w’hat that auld daft beggar-carle and our son 
Steenie can be doing out in sic a night as this,” said 
Maggie Mucklebackit ; and her expression of surprise 
was echoed by her visiter ; “ Gang awa ane o’ ye, hinnies, 
up to the heugh-head, and gie them a cry in case they’re 
within hearing — the car-cakes will be burnt to a cinder.” 

The little emissary departed, but in a few minutes 
fame running back with the loud exclamation, Eh, 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


55 


minnie ! eh, grannie ! there’s a white bogle chasing twa 
black anes down the heugh !” 

A noise of footsteps followed this singular annuncia- 
tion, and young Steenie Mucklebackit, closely followed by 
Edie Ochiltree, bounced into the hut. Thgy were pant- 
ing and out of breath. The first thing Steenie did was 
to look for the bar of the door, which his mother remind- 
ed him had been broken up for fire-wood, in the hard 
winter three years ago ; for what use, she said, had the 
like o’ them for bars 

“ There’s naebody chasing us,” said the beggar, afiei 
he had taken his breath ; “ we’re e’en like the wicked 
that flee when no one pursueth.” 

Troth, but we were chased,” said Steenie, “ by a 
spirit, or something little better.” 

“ It was a man in white on horseback,” said Edie, 
“ for the saft grund, that wadna bear the beast, flung him 
about, I wot that weel ; but I didna think my auld legs 
could have brought me afF as fast ; I ran amaist as fast 
as if I had been at Prestonpans.” 

“ Hout, ye daft gowks,” said Luckie Mucklebackit, 
“ it will hae been some o’ the riders at the Countess’s 
burial.” 

“ What !” said Edie, “ is the auld Countess buried the 
night at St. Ruth’s ? — Ou, that wad be the lights and 
the noise that scarr’d us awa ; I wish I had kend — I wad 
hae stude them, and no left the man yonder — but they’ll 
take care o’ him. Ye strake ower hard, Steenie — I doubt 
ye foundered the chield.” 

“ Ne’er a bit,” said Steenie, laughing ; “ he has braw 
broad shouthers, and I just took the measure o’ them vvi’ 
the stang — Odd, if I hadna been something short wi’ him 
he wad hae knockit your old hams out, lad.” 

“ Weel, an’ I win clear o’ this scrape,” said Edie, “ I’su 
tempt Providence nae mair. But I canna think it an-un- 
lawfu’ thing to pit a bit trick on sic a land-louping scoun- 
drel, that just lives by tricking honester folk.” 

But what are we to do with this 9” said Steenie, pro- 
ducing a pocket-book. 


5G 


THE AKTiq^UARY. 


“ Odd guide us, man,” said Edie, in great alarm, 
‘‘ what gar’d ye touch the gear a very leaf o’ that 
pocket-book wad be eneugh to hang us baith.” 

“ I dinna ken,” said Steenie ; “ the book had fa’en out 
o’ his pocket,^! fancy, for 1 fand it amang my feet when 
I was graping about to set him on his legs again, and I 
just pat it in my pouch to keep it safe ; and then came 
the tramp of horse, and you cried ‘ Rin, rin,’ and I had 
nae mair thought o’ the book.” 

“ We maun get it back to the loon some gait or other ; 
ye had better take it yoursell, I think, wi’ peep o’ light, 
up to Ringan Aikwood’s. I wadna for a hundred pounds 
it was fund in our hands.” 

Steenie undertook to do as he was directed. 

“ A bonny night ye hae made o’t, Mr. Steenie,” said 
Jenny Rintherout, who, impatient of remaining so long 
unnoticed, now presented herself to the young fisherman 
— “ A bonny night ye hae made o’t, tramping about wi’ 
gaberlunzies, and getting yoursell hunted wi’ worricows, 
when ye suld be sleeping in your bed like your father, 
honest man.” 

This attack called forth a suitable response of rustic 
raillery from the young fisherman. An attack was now 
commenced upon the car-cakes and smoked fish, and sus- 
tained with great perseverance by assistance of a bicker 
or two of twopenny ale and a bottle of gin. The men- 
dicant then retired to the straw of an out-house adjoining. 
— the children had one by one crept into their nests, — 
the old grandmother was deposited in her flock-bed, — 
Steenie, notwithstanding his preceding fatigue, had the 
gallantry to accompany Miss Rintherout to her own man- 
sion, and at what hour he returned the story saith not,— 
and the matron of the family, having laid the gathering- 
coal upon the fire, and put things in some sort of order, 
retii^d to rest the last of the family 


THR ANTI?l.TJASy^. 




CHAPTER VL 

——-Many great ones 

Would part with half their states^ to ha\’e the plan 

And credit to beg in the first style 

Beggar^ $ Bitsh. 

Old Edie was stirring with the lark, and his first in- 
quiry was after Steenie and the pocket-book. The young 
fisherman had been under the necessity of attending his 
father before daybreak to avail themselves of the tide, but 
he had promised, that, immediately on his return, the 
pocket-book, with all its contents, carefully wrapped up 
ill a piece of sail-cloth, should be delivered by him to 
Ringan Aikwood, for Dousterswivel, the owner. 

The matron had prepared the morning meal for the 
family, and, shouldering her basket of fish, tramped stur- 
dily away towards Fairport. The children were idling 
round the door, for the day was fair and sun-shiney. 
The ancient grandame, again seated on her wicker-chair 
by the fire, had resumed her eternal spindle, wholly un- 
moved by the yelling and screaming of the children, and 
the scolding of the mother, which had preceded the dis- 
persion of the family. Edie had arranged his various 
bags, and was bound for the renewal of his wandering 
life, but first adjpnced with due courtesy to take his leave 
of the ancient crone. 

“ Glide day to ye, cummer,^nd mony ane o’ them. 
I will be back about the fore-end o’ har’st, and 1 t|*ust tc 
find ye baith haill and fere.” 

‘‘ Pray that ye may find me in my quiet grave,” said 
the old woman in a hollow and sepulchral voice, but with- 
out the agitation of a single feature. 

“ Ye’re auld, cummer, and sae am I mysell ; but we 
maun abide His will — we’ll nabe for^'otten in His good 
timo ’ 

u 


ANTiqUAttY. 


f.B 

“ Nor our deeds neither,'’ said the crone ; what’s 
dune in the body maun be answered in the spirit.” 

“ I wot that’s true ; and I may weel tak the tale hame 
to my^l, that hae led a misruled and roving life. But 
ye were aye a canny wife. We’re a’ frail — but ye canna 
hae sae muckle to bow ye down.” 

“ Less than I might have had — but mair, O far mair, 
than wad sink the stoutest brig e’er sailed out o’ Fairport 
harbour ! — Didna somebody say yestreen — at least sae 
It is borne in on my mind — but auld folk hae weak fan- 
cies — did not somebody say that Joscelind, Countess of 
Glenallan, was departed frae life 

“ They said the truth whaever said it,” answered old 
Edie ; “ she was buried yestreen by torch-light at St. 
Ruth’s, and I, like a fule, gat a glifF wi’ seeing the lights 
and the riders.” 

“ It was their fashion since the days of the Great Earl 
that was killed at Harlaw — They did it to show scorn that 
they should die and be buried like other mortals — The 
wives o’ the house of Glenallan wailed nae wail for the 
husband, nor the sister for the brother. But is she e’en 
ca’d to the lang account 9” 

“ As sure,” answered Edie, ‘‘ as we maun a’ abide it.” 

“ Then I’ll unlade my mind, come o’t what will.” 

This she spoke with more alacrity than usually attend- 
ed her expressions, and accompanied her words with an 
attitude of the hand, as if throwing something from her. 
She then raised up her form, once tall, and still retaining 
the appearance of having been so, thou^ bent with age 
and rheumatism, and stood before the beggar like a mum- 
my animated by some \flindering spirit into a temporary 
resurrection. Her light-blue eyes wandered to and fro, 
as if she occasionally forgot and again remembered the 
purpose for which her long and withered hand was search- 
ing among the miscellaneous contents of an ample old- 
fashioned pocket. At length, she pulled out a small chi})- 
oox, and opening it , too k out a handsome ring, in which 
was set a braid of hair, conmosed of two different col 


THE ANTIC^UARY. 


59 


ours, black and light brown, twined together, encircled 
with brilliants of considerable value. 

“ Gude man,” said she to Ochiltree, “ as ye wad e’er 
deserve mercy, ye maun gang my errand to the house of 
Glenallan, and ask for the Earl.” 

“ The Earl of Glenallan, cummer ! ou, he winna see 
ony o’ the gentles o’ the country, and what likelihood is 
there that he wad see the like o’ an auld gaberlunzie 

“ Gang your ways and try — and tell him that Elspeth 
o’ the Craigburnfoot — he’ll mind me best by that name — 
maun see him or she be relieved frae her lang pilgrimage, 
and that she sends him that ring in token of the business 
she wad speak o’.” 

Ochiltree looked on the ring with some admiration of 
its apparent value, and then carefully replacing it in the 
box, and wrapping it in an old ragged handkerchief, he 
deposited the token in his bosom. 

“ Weel, gudewife,” he said, “ I’se do your bidding, or 
It’s no be my fault — But surely there was never sic a 
braw propine as this sent to a yerl by an auld fish-wife, 
and through the hands of a gaberlunzie beggar.” 

With this reflection, Edie took up his pike-stafF, put on 
his broad-brimmed bonnet, and set forth upon his pilgrim- 
age. The old woman remained for some time standing 
in a fixed posfure, her eyes directed to the door through 
which her ambassador had departed. The appearance 
of excitation, which the conversation had occasioned, 
gradually left her features — she sunk down upon her ac- 
customed seat, and resumed her mechanical labour of 
the distaff and spindle, with her wonted air of apathy. 

Edie Ochiltree meanwhile advanced on his journey. 
The distance to Glenallan was ten miles, a march which 
the old soldier accomplished in about four hours. With 
the curiosity belonging to his idle trade and animated 
character, he tortured himself the whole way to consider 
what could be the meaning of this my sterious errand with 
which he was intrusted, or what connection the proud, 
wealthy, and powerful Earl of Glenallan could have with 
the crimes or penitence q^n old doting woman, whose 


60 


THE ANTIQ,UAI1T. 


rank in life did not greatly exceed that of her messenger. 
He endeavoured to call to memory all that he had ever 
known or heard of the Glenallan family, yet, having done 
so, remained altogether unable to form a conjecture on 
the subject. He knew that the whole extensive estate of 
this ancient and powerful family had descended to the 
Countess lately deceased, who inherited, in a most re- 
markable degree, the stern, fierce, and unbending char- 
acter which had distinguished the house of Glenallan since 
they first figured in Scottish annals. Like the rest of 
her ancestors, she adhered zealously to the Roman Cath- 
olic faith, and was married to an English gentleman of 
the same communion, and of large fortune, who did not 
survive their union two years. The Countess was, there- 
fore, left an early widow, with the uncontrolled manage- 
ment of the large estates of her two sons. The elder, 
Lord Geraldin, who was to succeed to the title and for- 
tune of Glenallan, was totally dependent on his mother 
during her life. The second, when he came of age, as^- 
sumed the name and arms of his father, and took ])os- 
session of his estate, according to the provisions of the 
Countess’s marriage-settlement. After this period, he 
chiefly resided in England, and paid very few and brief 
visits to his mother and brother ; and these at length were 
altogether dispensed with, in consequence 'of his becom- 
ing a convert to the reformed religion. 

But even before this mortal offence was given to its 
mistress, his residence at Glenallan offered few induce- 
ments to a gay young man like Edward Geraldin Neville, 
though its gloom and seclusion seemed to suit the retired 
and melancholy habits of his elder brother. Lord Ger- 
aldin, in the outset of life, had been a young man of ac- 
complishment and hppes. Those who knew him upon 
his travels entertained the highest expectations of his fu- 
ture career. But such fair dawns are often strangely 
overcast. The young nobleman returned to Scotland, 
and after living about a year in his mother’s society at 
Glenallan-house, he seemed to have adopted all the stern 
gloom and melancholy of her character. Excluded from 


THE AXTIQ,UARY. 


6] 


politics by the incapacities attached to those of his religion, 
and from all lighter avocations by choice, Lord Geraldin 
led a life of the strictest retirement. His ordinary society 
was composed of the clergymen of his communion, who 
occasionally visited his mansion ; and very rarely, upon 
stated occasions of high festival, one or two families who 
still professed the Catholic religion were formally enter- 
tained at Glenallan-house. But this was all — their her- 
etic neighbours knew nothing of the family whatever ; 
and even the Catholics saw little more than the sumptuous 
entertainment and solemn parade which was exhibited on 
those formal occasions, from which all returned without 
knowing whether most to wonder at the stern and stately 
demeanour of the Countess, or the deep and gloomy 
dejection which never ceased for a moment to cloud the 
features of her son. The late event had put him in pos- 
session of his fortune and title, and the neighbourhood 
had already begun to conjecture whether gaiety would 
revive with independence, when those who had some oc- 
casional acquaintance with the interior of the family spread 
abroad a report, that the Earl’s constitution was under- 
mined by religious austerities, and that, in all probability 
he would soon follow his mother to the grave. This 
event was the more probable as his brother had died of a 
lingering complaint, which, in the latter years of his life, 
had affected at once his frame and his spirits : so that 
heralds and genealogists were already looking ba^k into 
their records to discover the heir of this ill-fated family, 
and lawyers were talking with gleesome anticipation of 
the probability of a “ great Glenallan cause.” 

As Edie Ochiltree approached the front of Glenallan- 
house, an ancient building of great extent, the most 
modern part of which had been designed by the cele- 
brated Inigo Jones, he began to consider in what way he 
should be most likely to gain access for delivery of his 
message ; and, after much consideration, resolved to send 
the token to the earl by one of the domestics. With this 
purpose he stopped at a cottage, where he obtained the 

VOL. II. 


62 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


means of making up the ring in a sealed packet like a 
petition, addiessed, Forr his hounor the Yerl of Glenllan 
^These. But being aware that missives delivered at 
the doors of great houses by such persons as himself, do 
not always make their way according to address, Edie 
determined, like an old soldier, to reconnoitre the ground 
before he made his final attack. As he approached the 
porter’s-lodge, he discovered by the number of poor rank- 
ed before it, some of them being indigent persons in the 
vicinity, and others itinerants of his own begging profes- 
sion, — that there was about to be a general dole or dis- 
tribution of charity. 

‘‘ A good turn,” said Edie to himself, “ never goes 
unrewarded — I’ll maybe get a good awmous that 1 wad 
hae missed, but for trotting on this auld wife’s errand.” 

Accordingly, he ranked up with the rest of this ragged 
regiment, assuming a station as near the front as possible, 
— a distinction due, as he conceived, to his blue gown - 
and badge, no less than to his years and experience ; 
but he soon found there was another principle of 
precedence in this assembly to which he had not adverted. 

“ Are ye a triple man, friend, that ye press forward 
sae bauldly ? — I’m thinking no, for there’s nae Catholics 
wear that badge.” 

“ Na, na, I am no a Roman,” said Edie 

“ Then shank yoursell awa to the double folk, or sin- 
gle folk, that’s the Episcopals or Presbyterians yonder — 
it’s a shame to see a heretic hae sic a lang white beard, 
that would do credit to a hermit.” 

Ochiltree, thus rejected from the society of the Cath- 
olic mendicants, or those who call themselves such, went 
to station himself with the paupers of the communion 
of the church of England, to whom the noble donor 
allotted a double portion of his charity. But never was 
a poor occasional conformist more roughly rejected by a 
High-church congregation, even when that matter was 
'uriously agitated in the days of good Queen Anne. 

“ See to him wi’ his badge !” they said ; “ he hears 
ane o’ the King’s Presbyterian chaplains sough out a ser- 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


63 


mon on the morning of every birth-day, and now he 
would pass himself for ane o’ the Episcopal church ! Na, 
na ! We’ll take care o’ that.” 

Edie, thus rejected by Rome and prelacy, was fain to 
shelter himself from the laughter of his brethren among 
the thin group of Presbyterians, who had either disdained 
to disguise their religious opinions for the sake of an 
augmented dole, or perhaps knew they could not attempt 
the imposition without a certainty of detection. 

The same degree of precedence was observed in the 
mode of distributing the charity, which consisted in bread, 
beef, and a piece of money, to each individual of all the 
three classes. The almoner, an ecclesiastic of grave 
appearance and demeanour, superintended in person the 
accommodation of the Catholic mendicants, asked a ques- 
tion or two at each as he delivered the charity, and re- 
commending to their prayers the soul of Joscelind, late 
Countess of Glenallan, mother of their benefactor. The 
])orter, distinguished by his long staff headed with silver, 
and by the black gown tufted with lace of the same colour, 
which he had assumed upon the general mourning in the 
family, overlooked the distribution of the dole among the 
j)relatists. The less-favoured kirk-folk were committed 
to the charge of an aged domestic. 

As this last discussed some disputed point with the 
porter, his name, as it chanced to be occasionally men- 
tioned, and then his features, struck Ochiltree, and awa- 
kened recollections of former times. The rest of the 
assembly were now retiring, when the domestic, again 
approaching the place where Edie still lingered, said, in 
a strong Aberdeenshire accent, “ Fat is the auld feel- 
body deeing that he canna gang avay, now that he’s gotten 
baith meat and siller 9” 

“ Francie JNIacraw,” answered Edie Ochiltree ; “ d’ye 
no mind Fontenoy, and ‘ Keep thegither, front and rear !’ ” 

“ Ohon, ohon !” cried Francie, with a true north- 
country yell of recognition, “ naebody could hae said thai 
word but my auld front-rank man, Edie Ochiltree ! Bui 
I’m sorry to see ye in sic a peer state, man.” 


64 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ No sae ill aff as ye may think, Francie. But Fni 
laitli to leave this place without a crack wi’ you, and I 
kenna when I may see you again, for your folk dinna mak 
Protestants welcome, and that’s ae reason that 1 hae never 
been here before.” 

“ Fusht, fusht,” said Francie, “ let that fiee stick i’ 
the wa’ — when the dirt’s dry it will rub out — and come 
you awa wi’ me, and I’ll gie ye something better than 
that beef bane, man.” 

Having then spoke a confidential word with the porter, 
(probably to request his connivance,) and having waited 
until the almoner had returned into the house with slow 
and solemn steps, Francie Macraw introduced his old 
comrade into the court of Glenallen-house, the gloomy 
gateway of which was surmounted by a huge scutcheon, 
in which the herald and undertaker had mingled, as usual, 
the emblems of human pride and of human nothingness ; 
the Countess’s hereditary coat-of-arms, with all its nu- 
merous quarterings, disposed in a lozenge, and surround- 
ed by the separate shields of her paternal and maternal 
ancestry, intermingled with scythes, hour-glasses, sculls 
and other symbols of that mortality which levels all dis- 
tinctions. Conducting his friend as speedily as possible 
along the large paved court, Macraw led the way through 
a side-door to a^small apartment near the servants’-hall, 
which, in virtue of his personal attendance upon the Earl 
of Glenallan, he was entitled to call his own. To pro- 
duce cold meat of various kinds, strong beer, and even a 
glass of spirits, was no difficulty to a person of Francie’s 
importance, who had not lost, in his sense of conscious 
dignity, the keen northern prudence which recommended 
a good understanding with the butler. Our mendicant 
envoy drank ale, and talked over old stories with his 
comrade, until, no other topic of conversation occurring, 
he resolved to take up the theme of his embassy, which 
had for some time escaped his memory. 

“ He had a petition to present to the Earl,” he said ; 
— for he judged it prudent to say nothing of the ring, not 
knowing, as he afterwards observed, how far the manners 


THE ANTIQ,UARY« 


65 


of a single soldier"^ might have been corrupted by service 
in a great house. 

“ Hout, tout, man,” said Francie, “ the Earl will look 
at nae petitions — but I can gie’t to the almoner.” 

“ But it relates to some secret, that maybe my lord 
wad like best to see’t himsell.” 

“ I’m jeedging that’s the very reason that the almoner 
will be for seeing it the first and foremost.” 

“ But I hae come a’ this way on purpose to deliver it, 
Francie, and ye really maun help me at a pinch.” 

‘‘ Ne’er speed then if I dinna,” answered the Aber- 
deenshire man ; let them be as cankered as they like, 
they can but turn me awa, and I was just thinking to ask 
my discharge, and gang down to end my days at Inve- 
rurie.” 

With this doughty resolution of serving his friend at 
all ventures, since none was to be encountered which could 
much inconvenience himself, Francie Macraw left the 
apartment. It was long before he returned, and when 
he did, his manner indicated wonder and agitation. 

“ I am nae seere gin ye be Edie Ochiltree o’ Garrick’s 
company in the Forty -twa, or gin ye be the deil in his 
likeness !” 

‘‘ And what makes ye speak in that gait 9” demanded 
the astonished mendicant. 

Because my lord has been in sic a distress, and seer- 
preese, as I ne’er saw a man in my life. But he’ll see 
you — I got that job cookit. He was like a man awa frae 
nimsell for mony minutes, and I thought he would hae 
swarv’t a’thegither — and fan he cam’ to himsell, he asked 
fae brought the packet — and fat trow ye I said 9” 

‘‘ An auld soger,” said Edie ; “ that does likeliest at 
a gentle’s door — at a farmer’s it’s best to say ye’re an 
auld tinkler,' if ye need ony quarters, for maybe the gude- 
wife will hae something to souther.” 

But I said ne’er ane o’ the twa,” answered Francie : 
‘ my lord cares as little about the tane as the tother — for 
he's besl to them that can souther up our sins. Sae I e’en 

VOL. II. 


66 


THJ: ANTKilARV. 


said the hit paper was brought by an auld man u i’ a lang 
6te beard — he might be a capeechin freer for fat 1 kend, 
for he was dressed like an auld palmer. Sae ye’ll be 
sent for up fanever he can find mettle to face ye.” 

“ I wish I was weel through this business,” thought 
Edie to himself ; “ mony folk surmise that the Earl’s nc 
very right in the judgment, and wha can say how far he 
may be offended wi’ me for taking upon me sae muckle 

But there was now no room for retreat — a bell sounded 
from a distant part of the mansion, and Macraw said with 
a smothered accent, as if already in his master’s presence, 
“ That’s my lord’s bell ! — follow me, and step lightly and 
cannily, Edie.” 

Edie followed his guide, who seemed to tread as if 
afraid of being overheard, through a long passage, and 
up a back stair, which admitted them into the family 
apartments. They were ample and extensive, furnished 
at such cost as showed the ancient importance and splen- 
dour of the family. But all the ornaments were in the 
taste of a former and distant period, and one would have 
almost supposed himself traversing the halls of a Scottish 
nobleman before the union of the crowns. The late 
Countess, partly from a haughty contempt of the times 
in which she lived, partly from her sense of family pride, 
had not permitted the furniture to be altered or modern- 
ized during her residence at Glenallan-house. The most 
magnificent part of the decorations was a valuable collec- 
tion of pictures by the best masters, whose massive frames 
were somewhat tarnished by time. In this particular 
also the gloomy taste of the family seemed to predomi- 
nate. There were some fine famil 3 ^portraits by Vandyke 
and other masters of eminence ; but the collection wa? 
richest in the Saints and Martyrdoms of Domenichino, 
Velasquez, and Murillo, and other subjects of the same 
kind, which had been selected in preference to landscapes 
jor historical pieces. The manner in which these awful, 
and sometimes disgusting, subjects were represented, 
harmonized with* the gloomy state of the apartments ; a 


•TJIE ANTiq^UAllY. 


67 


circumstance which was not altogether lost on the old 
man, as he traversed them under the guidance of his 
quondam fellow-soldier. He was about to express some 
sentiment of this kind, but Francie imposed silence on 
him by signs, and, opening a door at the end of the long 
picture-gallery, ushered him into a small antechamber 
hung with black. Here they found the almoner, with his 
ear turned to a door opposite that by which they entered, 
in the attitude of one who listens with attention, but is at 
the same time afraid of being detected in the act. 

The old domestic and churchman started when they 
perceived each other. But the almoner first recovered 
his recollection, and, advancing towards Macraw, said 
under his breath, but with an authoritative tone, “ How 
dare you approach theEarPs apartment without knocking*? 
and who is this stranger, or what has he to do here 
Retire to the gallery, and wait for me there.” 

“ It’s impossible just now to attend your reverence,” 
answered Macraw, raising his voice so as to be heard in 
the next room, being conscious that the priest would not 
maintain the altercation within hearing of his patron, — 
“ the Earl’s bell has rung.” 

He had scarce uttered the words, when it was rung 
again with greater violence than before ; and the ecclesi- 
astic, perceiving further expostulation impossible, lifted 
his finger at Macraw with a menacing attitude, as he left 
the apartment. 

‘‘ I tell’d ye sae,” said the Aberdeen man in a whisper 
to Edie, and then proceeded to open the door near which 
they had observed the chaplain stationed. 


68 


THE ANTK^UARlPte 


CHAPTER VII. 

This ring, — 

This little ring, with necromantic force, 

Has raised the ghost of Pleasure to my fears, 

Conjured the sense of honor and of love 
Into such shapes, they fright me from myself. 

The Fatal Marriage. 

The ancient forms of mourning were observed in 
Glenallan-house, notwithstanding the obduracy with which 
the members of the family were popularly supposed to re- 
fuse to the dead the usual tribute of lamentation. It was 
remarked, that when she received the fatal letter announc- 
ing the death of her second, and, as was once believed, 
her favourite son, the hand of the Countess did not shake, 
nor her eyelid twinkle any more than upon perusal of a 
If.tter of ordinary business. Heaven only knows whether 
the suppression of maternal sorrow, which her pride 
commanded, might not have some effect in hastening her 
own death. It was at least generally supposed, -that the 
apoplectic stroke, which so soon afterwards terminated 
her existence, was, as it were, the vengeance of outraged 
Nature for the restraint to which her feelings had been 
subjected. But although Lady Glenallan forebore the 
usual external signs of grief, she had caused many of 
the apartments, amongst others her own and that of the 
Earl, to be hung with the exterior trappings of woe. 

The Earl of Glenallan was therefore seated in an 
apartment hung with black cloth, which waved in dusky 
folds along its lofty walls. A screen, also covered with 
black baize, placed towards the high and narrow window 
intercepted much of the broken light which found its 
way through the stained glass, that represented, with such 
skill as the fourteenth century possessed, the life and 
sorrows of the prophet Jeremiah The table at which 


TllK AxNTK^UAKY. 


69 


the Earl was seated was lighted with two lamps wrought 
in silver, shedding that unpleasant and doubtful light 
which arises from the mingling of artificial lustre with that 
of general daylight. The same table displayed a silver 
crucifix, and one or two clasped parchment books. A 
large picture, exquisitely painted by Spagnoletto, repre- 
sented the martyrdom of St. Stephen, and was the only 
ornament of the apartment. 

The inhabitant and lord of this disconsolate chamber, 
was a man not past the prime of life, yet so broken down 
with disease and mental misery, so gaunt and ghastly, that 
he appeared but a wreck of manhood ; and when he 
hastily arose and advanced toward his visiter, the exertion 
seemed almost to overpower his emaciated frame. As 
they met in the midst of the apartment, the contrast they 
exhibited was very striking. The hale cheek, firm step, 
erect stature, and undaunted presence and bearing of the 
old mendicant, indicated patience and content in the ex- 
tremity of age, and in the lowest condition to which 
humanity can sink ; while the sunken eye, pallid cheek, 
and tottering form of the nobleman with whom he was 
confronted, showed how little wealth, power, and even 
the advantages of youth, have to do with that which gives 
repose to the mind, and firmness to the frame. 

The Earl met the old man in the middle of the room, 
and having commanded his attendant to withdraw into 
the gallery, and suffer no one to enter the antechamber till 
he rung the bell, awaited, with hurried yet fearful impa- 
tience, until he heard first the door of his apartment, and 
then that of the antechamber, shut and fastened by the 
spring-bolt. When he was satisfied with this security 
against being over-heard. Lord Glenallan came close up 
to the mendicant, whom he probably mistook for some 
person of a religious order in disguise, and said, in a 
hasty yet faltering tone, “ In the name of all our religion 
holds most holy, tell me, reverend father, what I am to 
expect from a communication, opened by a token con- 
nected with such horrible recollections 9” 


70 


Tin: ANTKtrAUY. 


The old man, appalled by a manner so different from 
what he had expected from the proud and powerful no- 
bleman, was at a loss how to answer, and in what manner 
to undeceive him — “ Tell me,” continued the Earl, in a 
tone of increasing trepidation and agony — “ tell me, do 
you come to say, that all that has been done to expiate 
guilt so horrible, has been too little and too trivial for the 
offence, and to point out new and more efficacious modes 
of severe penance 9 — I will not blench from it, father — 
let me suffer the pains of my crime here in the body, 
rather than hereafter in the spirit !” 

Edie had now recollection enough to perceive, that if he 
did not interrupt the frankness of Lord Glenallan’s admis- 
sions, he was likely to become the confidant of more than 
it might be safe for him to know. He therefore uttered, 
with a hasty and trembling voice — “ Your lordship’s hon- 
our is mistaken — I am not of your persuasion, nor a cler- 
gyman, but, with all reverence, only puir Edie Ochiltree, 
the King’s bedesman and your honour’s.” 

This explanation he accompanied by a profound bow 
after his manner, and then drawing himself up erect, rest- 
ed his arm on his staff, threw back his long white hair, and 
fixed his eyes upon the Earl, as he waited for an answer. 

“ And you are not, then,” said Lonl Glenallan, after 
a pause of surprise, “ you are not then a Catholic 
priest'?” 

“ God forbid !” said Edie, forgetting in his confusion 
to whom he was speaking, “ 1 am only the King’s bedes- 
man and your honour’s, as I said before.” 

The Earl turned hastily away, and paced the room 
twice or thrice, as if to recover the effects of his mistake, 
and then, coming close up to the mendicant, he demand- 
ed, in a stern and commanding tone, what he meant by 
intruding himself on his privacy, and from whence he 
had got the ring which he had thought proper to send 
him. Edie, a man of much spirit, was less daunted at 
this mode of interrogation than he had been confused by 
the tone of confidence in which the Earl had opened 
their conversation. To the reiterated question from 


TIIK ANTKiUAllY. 


71 


whom he had obtained the ring, he answered composed- 
ly, “ from one who was better known to the Earl than to 
him.” 

“ Better known to me, fellow'?” said Lord Glenallan ; 

what is your meaning 7 Explain yourself instantly, or 
you shall experience the consequence of breaking in upon 
the hours of family distress.” 

It was auld Elspeth Mucklebackit that sent me here,’ 
said the beggar, “ in order to say” p- 

“ You dote, old man !” said the Earl, “ 1 never heard 
the name — but this dreadful token reminds me” 

“ I mind now, my lord,” said Ochiltree ; “ she tauld 
me your lordship would be mair familiar wi’ her, if I ca’d 
her Elspeth o’ the Craigburnfoot — She had that name 
when she lived on your honour’s land, that is, your hon- 
our’s worshipful mother’s that was then — Grace be wi’ 
her !” 

“ Ay,” said the appalled nobleman, as his countenance 
sunk, and his cheek assumed a hue yet more cadaverous ; 
“ that natne is indeed written in the most tragic page of a 
deplorable history — But what can she desire of me 9 Is 
she dead or living *?” 

“ Living, my lord ;.and entreats to see your lordship 
before she dies, for she has something to communicate 
that hangs upon her very soul, and she says she canna 
flit in peace until she sees you.” 

“ Not until she sees me ! — what can that mean *? — but 
she is doting with age and infirmity — I tell thee, friend, 
[ called at her cottage myself, not a twelvemonth since, 
fi*om a report that she was in distress, and she did not even 
know my face or voice.” 

“ If your honour wad permit me,” said Edie, to 
whom the length of the conference restored a part of 
his professional audacity and native talkativeness, — “ if 
your honour wad but permit me, I wad say, under cor- 
rection of your lordship’s better judgment, that auld Els- 
peth’s like some of the ancient ruined strengths and 
castles that ane sees amang the hills. There are mony 
parts of her mind that appear, as I may say, laid waste 


72 


THE ANTKtUARY. 


and decayed, but then there’s parts that look the steevei . 
and the stronger, and the grander, because they are rising 
just like to fragments amang the ruins o’ the rest — She’s 
an awful woman.” 

“ She always w^as so,” said the Earl, almost uncon- 
sciously echoing the observation of the mendicant ; “ she 
always was different from other women — likest perhaps 
to her who is now no more, in her temper and turn of 
mind. — She wishes to see me then 

“ Before she dies,” said Edie, “ she earnestly en- 
treats that pleasure.” 

“ It will be a pleasure to neither of us,” said the Earl, 
sternly, “ yet she shall be gratified — She lives, I think, 
on the sea-shore to the southward of Fairport 

“ Just between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock Castle, 
but nearer to Monkbarns. Your lordshi})’s honour will 
ken the laird and Sir Arthur, doubtless 

A stare, as if he did not comprehend the question, was 
Lord Glenallan’s answer. Edie saw his mind was else- 
where, and did not venture to repeat a query which was 
so little germain to the matter. 

“ Are you a Catholic, old man 7” demanded the Earl. 

“ No, my lord,” said Ochiltree stoutly, for the remem- 
brance of the unequal division of the dole rose in his 
mind at the moment ; “ I thank Heaven, I am a good 
Protestant.” 

“ He who can conscientiously call himself good, has 
indeed reason to thank Heaven, be his form of Christian- 
ity what it will ! — But who is he that shall dare to do so 

‘‘ Not I,” said Edie ; “ 1 trust to beware of the sin 
of presumption.” 

“ What was your trade in your youth 7” continued the 
Earl. 

“ A soldier, my lord ; and mony a sair day’s kemping 
I’ve seen. I was to have been made a sergeant, but” — 

‘‘ A soldier ! then you have slain and burnt, and sack- 
ed and spoi’ed 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


73 


“ 1 winna say,” replied Edie, “ that I have been bet- ' 
ter than my neighbours — it’s a rough trade — war’s sweet 
to them that never tried it.” 

“ And you are now old and riiiserable, asking from 
precarious charity, the food which in your youth you tore 
from the hand of the poor peasant 9” 

“ 1 am a beggar it is true, my lord ; but I am nae just 
sae miserable neither — for my sins, I hae had grace to 
repent of them, if I might say sae, and to lay tliem where 
they may be better borne than by me — and for my food, 
naebody grudges an auld man a bit and a drink — Sae J 
live as I can, and am contented to die when 1 am ca’d 
upon.” 

“ And thus, then, with little to look back upon that is 
pleasant or praiseworthy in your past life, with less to look 
forward to on this side of eternity, you are contented to 
drag out the rest of your existence — Go, begone ; and 
in your age and poverty and weariness, never envy the 
lord of such a mansion as this, either in his sleeping or 
waking moments — Here is something for thee.” 

The Earl put into the old man’s hand five or six 
guineas. Edie would, perhaps have stated his scruples, 
as upon other occasions, to the amount of the benefac- 
tion, but the tone of Lord Glenallan was too absolute to 
admit of either answor or dispute. The Earl then call- 
ed his servant — “ See this old man safe from the castle 
— let no one ask him any questions — and you, friend, 
begone, and forget the road that leads to my house.” 

“ That would be difficult for me,” said Edie, looking 
at the gold which he still held in his hand, “ that would 
be e’en difficult, since your honour has gi’en me such 
gude cause to remember it.” 

Lord Glenallan stared, as hardly comprehending the 
old man’s boldness in daring to. bandy words with him, 
and, with his hand, made him another signal of depar- 
ture, which the mendicant instantly obeyed. 

VOL. II. 


74 


THE ANTKtUAKY. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


For he was one in all their idle sport, 

And, like a monarch, ruled their little court ; 

The pliant bow he formed, the flying ball, 

The bat, the wicket, were his labours all. 

Crabbe's Village, 

Francis Macraw, agreeably to the commands of his 
master, attended the mendicant in order to see him fairly 
out of the estate, without permitting him to have con- 
'^ersation, or intercourse, with any of the Earl’s depend- 
ants or domestics. But, judiciously considering that the 
restriction did not extend to himself, who was the person 
intrusted with the convoy, he used every measure in his 
power to extort from Edie the nature of his confidential 
and secret interview with Lord Glenallan. But Edie 
had been in his time accustomed to cross examinations, 
and easily evaded those of his quondam comrade. “ The 
secrets of grit folk,” said Ochiltree within himself, “ are 
just like the wild beasts that are shut up in cages. Keep 
them hard and fast snecked up, and it’s a’ very weel or 
better — but ance let them out, they will turn and rend 
you. I mind how ill Dugald Gunn cam aff for letting 
loose his tongue about the major’s leddy and Captain 
Bandilier.” 

Francie was, therefore, foiled in his assaults upon the 
fidelity of the mendicant, and, like an indifferent chess 
player, became, at every unsuccessful movement, more 
liable to the counter-checks of his opponent. 

Sae ye uphauld ye had nae particulars to say to my 
lord but about your ain matters 9” 

“ Ay, and about the wee bits o’ things I had brought 
frae abroad,” said Edie. “ I kend you papist folk are 
unco set on the relics that are fetched frae far — kirks and 
sae forth.” 


TIIR ANriQ,UAUY. 


75 


“ Troth, my lord maim be turned feel outright,” said 
the domestic, “ an he puts himsell into sic a curfufile for 
onything ye could bring him, Edie.” 

“ 1 doubtna ye may say true in the main, neighbour,” re- 
plied the beggar; “ but maybe he’s had some hard play in bis 
younger days, Francie, and that whiles unsettles folk sair.” 

“ Troth, Edie, and ye may say that — and since it’s 
like ye’ll ne’er come back to the estate, or, if ye dee, 
that ye’ll no find me there, I’se e’en tell you he had a 
heart in his young time sae wrecked and rent, that it’s a 
wonder it hasna broken outright lang afore this day.” 

Ay, say ye sae 7” said Ochiltree ; “ that maun hae 
been about a woman I rackon 9” 

“ Troth, and ye hae guessed it,” said Francie — “ jeest 
a cusin o’ his nain — Miss Eveline Neville, as they suld hae 
ca’d her — there was a sough in the country about it, but it 
was hushed up, as the grandees were concerned — it’s mair 
than twenty years syne — ay, it will be three-and-twenty.” 

“ Ay, I was in America then,” said the mendicant, 
“ and' no in the way to hear the country clashes.” 

“ There was little clash about it, man,” replied Ma- 
craw ; “ he liked this young leddy, and suld hae married 
her, but his mother fand it out, and then the deil gaed 
o’er Jock Wabster. At last, the peer lass clodded her- 
sell o’er the scaur at the Craigburnfoot into the sea, and 
there was an end o’t.” 

“ An end o’t wi’ the puir leddy,” said the mendicant, 

but, as I rackon, nae end o’t vvi’ the yerl.” 

“ Nae end o’t till his life makes an end,” answered the 
Aberdonian. 

“ But what for did the auld Countess forbid the mar- 
riage 7” continued the persevering querist. 

“ Fat for ! — She maybe didna weel ken for fat her- 
sell, for she gar’d a’ bow to her bidding, right or wrang — 
But it was kend the young leddy was inclined to some o’ 
the heresies of the country — mair by token, she was 
sib to him nearer than our Church’s rule admits of — Sae 
the leddy was driven to the desperate act, and the yerl 
has never since held his head up like a man ” 


76 


Tin: ANTiqUAllY. 


“ Weel away !” replied Ochiltree ; “ it’s e’en queer I 
ne’er heard this tale afore.” 

“ It’s e’en queer that ye hear it now, for deil ane o’ 
the servants durst hae spoken o’t had the auld Countess 
6een living — Eh ! man, Edie, but she was a trimmer — it 
wad hae ta’en a skeely man to hae squared wi’ her ! — 
But she’s in her grave, and we may loose our tongues a 
bit fan we meet a friend. But fare ye weel, Edie, I 
maun be back to the evening service — An ye come to 
Inverurie maybe sax months awa, dinna forget to ask 
after Francie Macraw.” 

What one kindly pressed, the other as firmly promised ; 
and the friends having thus parted, with every testimony 
of mutual regard, the domestic of Lord Glenallan took 
his road back to the seat of his master, leaving Ochiltree 
to trace onward his habitual pilgrimage. 

It was a fine summer evening, and the world, that is, 
the little circle which was all in all to the individual by 
whom it was trodden, lay before Edie Ochiltree, for the 
choosing of his night’s quarters. When he had passed 
the less hospitable domains of Glenallan, he had in his 
option so many places of refuge for the evening, that he 
was nice and even fastidious in the choice. Ailie Sim’s 
public was on the road-side about a mile before him ; but 
there would be a parcel of young fellows there on the 
Saturday night, and that was a bar to civil conversation. 
Other “ gudemen and gudewives,” as the farmers and 
their dames are termed in Scotland, successively present- 
ed themselves to his imagination. But one was deaf, and 
could not hear him ; another toothless, and could not 
make him hear ; a third had a cross temper ; and a 
fourth an ill-natured house-dog. At Monkbarns or 
Knockwinnock he was sure of a favourable and hospita- 
ble reception, but they lay too distant to be conveniently 
reached that night. 

“ I dinna ken how it is,” said the old man, “ but I 
am nicer about my quarters this night than ever I mind 
having been in my life. I think having seen a’ the braws 
y^onder, and finding out ane may be happier without them 


THE ANTKiUAHY. 


77 

has made me proud o’ my ain lot — but I wuss it oode me 
glide, for pride goeth before destruction. At ony rate, 
tJie vvarst barn e’er man lay in wad be a pleasanter abode 
than Glenallan-house, wi’ a’ the pictures and black velvety 
and silver bonnie-wawlies belanging to it — Sae I’ll e’en 
settle at ance, and put in for Ailie Sim’s.” 

As the old man descended the hill above the little 
hamlet to which he was bending his course, the setting 
sun had relieved its inmates from their labour, and the 
young men, availing themselves bf the fine evening, were 
engaged in the sport of long-bowls on a patch of common, 
while the women and elders looked on. The shout, the 
laugh, the exclamations of winners and losers, came in 
blended chorus up the path which Ochiltree was descend- 
ing, and awakened in his recollection the days when he 
himself had been a keen competitor, and frequently 
victor, in games of strength and agility. These remem- 
brances seldom fail to excite a sigh, even when the even- 
ing of life is cheered by brighter prospects than those ol 

our poor mendicant. “ At that time of day,” was his 

natural reflection, “ I would have thought as little about 
ony auld palmering body that was coming down the edge 
of Kinblythemont, as ony o’ thae stalwart young duels 
does e’enow about auld Edie Ochiltree.” 

He was, however, presently cheered, by finding that 
more importance was attached to his arrival than his mod- 
esty had anticipated. A disputed cast had occurred be- 
tween the bands of players, and as the gauger favoured 
tlie one party, and the schoolmaster the other, the matter 
might be said to be taken up by the higher powers. The 
miller and smith, also, had espoused different sides, and. 
considering the vivacity of two such disputants, there was 
reason to doubt whether the strife might be amicably 
terminated. But the first person who caught a sight of 
the mendicant exclaimed, “ Ah ! here comes auld Edie, 
that kens the rules of a’ country games better than ony 
man that ever drave a bowl, or threw an axle-tree, or 

VOL. II. 


78 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


putted a stane either — let’s hae nae quarrelling, callantJT 
— we’ll stand by auld Edie’s judgment.” 

Edie was accordingly welcomed, and installed as um- 
pire, with a general shout of gratulation. With all the 
modesty of a bishop to whom the mitre is proffered, or of 
a new Speaker called to the chair, the old man declined 
the high trust and responsibility with which it was propos- 
ed to invest him, and, in requital for his self-denial and 
humility, had the pleasure of receiving the reiterated as- 
surances of young, old, and middle-aged, that he was 
simply the best qualified person for the office of arbiter 
“ in the haill country-side.” Thus encouraged, he pro- 
ceeded gravely to the execution of his duty, and, strictly 
forbidding all aggravating expressions on either side, he 
heard the smith and gauger on one side, the miller and 
schoolmaster on the other, as junior and senior counsel. 
Edie’s mind, however, was fully made up on the subject 
before the pleading began ; like that of many a judge, who 
must, nevertheless, go through all the forms, and endure, 
m its full extent, the eloquence and argumentation of the 
bar. For when all had been said on both sides, and much 
of it said over oftener than once, our senior, being well 
and ripely advised, pronounced the moderate and healing 
judgment, that the disputed cast was a drawn one, and 
should therefore count to neither party. This judicious 
decision restored concord to the field of players ; they 
began anew to arrange their match and their bets, with 
the clamorous mirth usual on such occasions of village 
sport, and the more eager were already stripping their 
jackets, and committing them, with their coloured hand- 
kerchiefs, to the care of wives, sisters, and mistresses. 
But their mirth was singularly interrupted. 

On the outside of the group of players began to arise 
sounds of a description very different from those of sport 
— that sort of suppressed sigh and exclamation, with 
which the first news of calamity is received by the hearers, 
began to be heard indistinctly. A buzz went about 
among the women of “ Eh, sirs ! sae young and sae 
suddenly summoned !” — It then extended itself among 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


79 


the men, and silenced the sounds of sportive mirth. All 
understood at once that some disaster had happened in 
the country', and each inquired the cause at his neighbour, 
who knew as little as the querist. At length the rumour 
reached, in a distinct shape, the ears of Edie Ochiltree, 
who was in the very centre of the assembly. The boat 
of Mucklebackit, the fisherman whom we have so often 
mentioned, had been swamped at sea, and four men had 
perished, it was affirmed, including Mucklebackit and his 
son. Rumour had in this however, as in other cases, 
gone beyond the truth. The boat had indeed been 
overset ; but Stephen, or, as he was called, Steenie 
Mucklebackit, was the only man who had been drowned. 
Although the place of his residence and his mode of life 
removed the young man from the society of the country 
folks, yet they failed not to pause in their rustic mirth to 
pay that tribute to sudden calamity, which it seldom fails 
to receive in cases of infrequent occurrence. To Ochil- 
tree, in particular, the news came like a knell, the rather 
that he had so lately engaged this young m&n’s assistance 
in an affair of sportive mischief ; and though neither loss 
nor injury was designed to the German adept, yet the 
work was not precisely one in which the latter hours of 
life ought to be occupied. 

Misfortunes never come alone. While Ochiltree, pen- 
sively leaning upon his staff, added his regrets to those 
of the hamlet which bewailed the young man’s sudden 
death, and internally blamed himself for the transaction 
in which he had so lately engaged him, the old man’s 
collar was seized by a peace-officer, who displayed his 
baton in his right hand, and exclaimed, “ In the King’s 
name.” 

The gauger and schoolmaster united their rhetoric, to 
prove to the constable and his assistant that he had no 
right to arrest the King’s bedesman as a vagrant ; and 
the mute eloquence of the miller and smith, which was 
vested in their clenched fists, was prepared to give high- 
land bail for their arbiter ; his blue gown, they said, was 
his warrant for travelling the country. 


so 


THE ANTiqUAEY. 


“ But his blue gown,” answered the officer, “ is nae 
protection for assault, robbery, and murder ; and my 
warrant is against him for these crimes.” 

“ Murder said Edie, “ murder ^ wha did I e’er 
murder 

“ Mr. German Doustercivil, the agent at Glen-With- 
ershins mining-works.” 

“ Murder Dustersnivel ! — hout, he’s living, and life- 
like, man.” 

“ Nae thanks to you if he be ; he had a sair struggle 
for his life, if a’ be true he tells, and ye maun answer for’t 
at the bidding of the law.” 

- The defenders of the mendicant shrunk back 'at hear- 
ing the atrocity of the charges against him, but more than 
one kind hand thrust meat and bread and pence upon 
Edie, to maintain hini in the prison, to which the officers 
were about to conduct him. 

“ Thanks to ye — God bless ye a’, bairns — I’ve gotton 
out o’ mony a snare when I was waur deserving o’ deliv- 
erance — 1 shall escape like a bird from the fowler. Play 
out your play, and never mind me — 1 am mair grieved for 
the puir lad that’s gane than for aught they can do to me.” 

Accordingly the unresisting prisoner was led off, while 
he mechanically accepted and stored in his wallet the alms 
which poured in on every hand, and ere he left the ham- 
let, was as deep-laden as a government victualler. The 
labour of bearing this accumulating burden was however 
abridged, by the officer procuring a cart and horse to 
convey the old man to a magistrate, in order to his exam- 
ination and committal. 

The disaster of Steenie, and the arrest of Edie, put a 
stop to the sports of the village, the pensive inhabitants 
of which began to speculate upon the vicissitudes of hu- 
man affairs, which had so suddenly consigned one of their 
comrades to the grave, and placed their master of the 
revels in some danger of being hanged. The character 
of Dousterswivel being pretty generally known, which 
was in his case equivalent to being pretty generally detest- 
ed, there were many speculations upon the probability ol 


THE ANTiqUARY. 


81 


the accusfilion being malicious. But all agreed, that, if 
Edie Ochiltree behoved in all events to suffer upon this 
occasion, it was a great pity he had not better merited 
his fate by killing Dousterswivel outright. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Who is he ? — One that for the lack of land 
Shall fight upon the water— he hath challenged 
Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles 
Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth, 

He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, 

Th' aquatic had the best— the argTunent 
Still galls our champion's breech. 

Old Play. 


“ And the poor young fellow, Steenie Mucklebackjt^ 
is to be buried this morning,” said our old friend the 
Antiquary, as he exchanged his' quilted night-gown for an 
old-fashioned black coat in lieu of the snuff-coloured vest- 
ment which he ordinarily wore, “ and, I presume, *it is 
expected that I should attend the funeral 

“ Ou ay,” answered the faithful Caxon, officiously 
brushing the white threads and specks from his patron’s 
habit ; “ the body, God help us, was sae broken against 
the rocks that they’re fain to hurry the burial. The sea’s 
a kittle cast, as I tell my daughter, puir thing, when 1 
want her to get up her spirits — the sea, says I, Jenny, is 

.as uncertain a calling” 

“ As the calling of an old periwig-maker, that’s robbed 
of his business by crops and the powder-tax. Caxon, 
d]y topics of consolation are as ill chosen as they are 
foreign to the present purpose. Quid mihi cum fipmina 9 
VNdiat have I to do with thy womankind, who have enougli 
and to spare of mine own 7 — 1 pray of you again, am 1 


82 


tup: ANTiq,UART. 


expected by these poor people to attend the funeral of 
their son 

“Ou doubtless, your honour is expected,” answered 
Caxon ; “ weel I wot ye are expected. Ye ken in this 
country ilka gentleman is wussed to be sae civil as to see 
the corpse afFhis grounds — Ye needna gang higher .than 
the loan-head — it’s no expected your honour suld lea\ e 
the land — it’s just a Kelso convoy, a step and a half ower 
the door-stane.” 

“ A Kelso convoy !” echoed the inquisitive Antiquary ; 
“ and why a Kelso convoy more than any other ?” 

Dear sir,” answered Caxon, “ how should I ken 
it’s just a by-word.” 

‘‘ Caxon,” answered Oldbuck, “ thou art a mere 
periwig-maker — Had I asked Ochiltree the question, he 
would have had a legend ready made to my hand.” 

“ My business,” replied Caxon, with more animation 
than he commonly displayed, “ is with the outside of your 
honour’s head, as ye are accustomed to say.” 

“ True, Caxon, true ; and it is no reproach to a thatch- 
er that he is not an upholsterer.” 

He then took out his memorandum-book and wrote 
down, ‘‘ Kelso convoy — said to be a step and a half 
owdr the threshold. Authority— Caxon..- Q^acere — 
Whence derived ? Mem. To write to Dr. Graysteel 
upon the subject.” 

Having made this entry, he resumed — “ And truly, as 
to this custom of the landlord attending the body of the 
peasant, I approve it, Caxon. It comes from ancient 
times, and was founded deep in the notions of mutual aid 
and dependence between the lord and cultivator of the 
soil. And herein I must say, the feudal system (as also 
in its courtesy towards womankind in which it exceeded) 
— herein, I say, the feudal usages mitigated and softened 
the sternness of classical times. No man, Caxon, ever 
lieard of a Spartan attending the funeral of a Helot — yet 1 
dare be sworn, that John of the Girnell — ye have heard ol 
him, Caxon 9” 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


83 


“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Caxon ; “ naebody can hae 
been lan;^ in your honour’s company without hearing ot 
that gentleman.” 

“ Well,” continued the Antiquary, “ I would bet a trifle 
there was not a kolb kerl^ or bondsman, or peasant, 
ascrijjius glebce, died upon the monks’ territories down 
here, but John of the Girnell saw them fairly and decent- 
ly interred.” 

“ Ay, but if it like your honour, they say he had mair 
tc* do wi’ the births than the burials. Ha ! ha ! ha !” with 
a gleeful chuckle. 

“ Good, Caxon ! very good ! why, you shine this 
morning.” 

“ And besides,” added Caxon, slily, encouraged by 
his patron’s approbation, “ they say too that the Catholic 
priests in thae times gat something for ganging about to 
burials.” 

“ Right, Caxon, right as my glove — by the by, I 
fancy that phrase comes from the custom of pledging a 
glove as the signal of irrefragable faith — right, I say, as my 
glove, Caxon — but we of the Protestant ascendancy have 
the more merit in doing that duty for nothing which cost 
mpney in the reign of that empress of superstition, vvbom 
Spencer, Caxon, terms, in his allegorical phrase, 

The daughter of that woman blind, 

Abessa, daughter of Corecca slow 

But why talk I of these things to thee 9 — my poor Lovel 
has spoiled me, and taught me to speak aloud when it is 
much the same as speaking to myself — where’s my 
nephew, Hector M’Intyre 

“ He’s in the parlour, sir, with the leddies.” 

“ Very well,” said the Antiquary, “ I will betake me 
thilher.” 

“ Now, Monkbarns,” said his sister, on his entering 
the parlour, “ ye maimna be angry.” 

“ My dear uncle !’' began Miss M’Intyre, 

15 


84 


THE AN TIQ.ua ill. 


“ What’s the meaning of all this?” said Oldbnck, iu 
alarm of some impending bad news, and arguing upon the 
supplicating tone of the ladies, as a fortress apprehends 
an attack from the very first flourish of the trumpet which 
announces the summons ; — “ What’s all this 9 What do 
you bespeak my patience for ?” 

“ No particular matter I should hope, sir,” said Hec- 
tor, who,, with his arm in a sling, was seated at the break- 
^st-table “ however, whatever it may amount to I am 
answera^ for it, as I am for much more trouble that 1 
h^e <j|^cl^sioned, and for which I have little more than 
^ Iflankrio offer.” 

“ No, no ! heartily welcome, heartily welcome — only 
let it be a warning to you,” said the Antiquary, “ against 
your fits of anger, which is a short madness — Ira furor 
brevis — but what is this new disaster ?” 

“ My dog, sir, has unfortunately thrown down” 

“ If it please Heaven, not the lachrymatory from Cloch- 
naben !” interjected Oldbuck. 

“ Indeed, uncle,” said the young lady, “ 1 am afraid 
— it was that which stood upon the sideboard — the poor 
thing only meant to eat the pat of fresh butter.” 

“ In which she has fully succeeded, I presume, for I 
see that on the table is salted. But that is nothing — my 
lachrymatory, the main pillar of my theory, on which I 
rested to show, in despite of the ignorant obstinacy of 
Mac-Cribb, that the Romans had passed the defiles of 
these mountains, and left behind them traces of their arts 
and arms, is gone — annihilated — reduced to such frag- 
ments as might be the shreds of a broken flowerpot ! 

Hector, I love ihoe, 

But never more be officer of mine.” 

“ Why, really, sir, I am afraid I should make a bad 
figure in a regiment of your raising.” 

At least. Hector, I would have you despatch your 
camp train, and travel eocpedilus or relictis {mpedimentis 
You cannot conceive how I am annoyed by this beast — 
She commits burglary I believe, for I heard her charged 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


85 


^ with breaking into the kitchen after all the doors were 
Jocked, and eating up a shoulder of mutton.” — (Our read- 
ers, if they chance to remember Jenny Rintherout’s 
precaution of leaving the door open when she went down 
to the fisher’s cottage, will probably acquit poor Juno ot 
that aggravation of guilt which the lawyers call a claus- 
trum fregitj and which makes the distinction between 
burglary and privatejy stealing.) 

“I am truly sorry, sir,” said Hector, “ that Juno has 
committed so much disorder ; but Jack Muirhead, the 
breaker, was never able to bring her under command. 
She has more travel than any bitch I ever knew, but” — 

“ Then, Hector, I wish the bitch would travel hersell 
out of my grounds.” 

“ We will both of us retreat to-morrow or to-day, but 
I would not willingly part from my mother’s brother in 
unkindness about a paltry pipkin.” 

“ O brother, brother !” ejaculated Miss M’Intyre, in 
utter despair at this vituperative epithet. 

“^Vhy, what would you have me call it 9” continued 
Hector ; “ it was just such a thing as they use in Egypt 
to cool wine, or sherbet, or water — I brought home a pair 
of them — I might have brought home twenty.” 

“ What !” said Oldbuck, “ shaped such as that your 
dog threw down f” 

“ Yes, sir, much such a sort of earthen jar as that 
which was on the sideboard. They are in my lodgings 
at Fairport ; we brought a parcel of them to cool our 
wine on the passage — they answer wonderfully well — if I 
could think they would in any degree repay your loss, or 
rather that they could afford you pfeasure, I am sure 1 
should be much honoured by your accepting them.” 

“ Indeed, my dear boy, I should be highly gratified by 
possessing them. To trace the connection of nations by 
their usages, and the similarity of the implements which 
they employ, has been long my favourite study. Every 
thing that can illustrate such connections is most valuable 
to me.” 


VOL. II. 


86 


THE ANTiqUART. 


“ Well, sir, I shall be much gratified by your accept 
ance of them, and a few trifles of the same kind. — And 
now, am 1 to hope you have forgiven me 

“ O, my dear boy, you are only thoughtless and foolish.’^ 
“ But Juno — she is only thoughtless too, I assure you 
— the breaker tells me she has no vice or stubbornness.” 

“ Well, I grant Juno also a free pardon — conditioned, 
that you will imitate her in avoiding vice and stubbornness, 
and that henceforward she banish herself forth of Monk- 
barns parlour.” 

“ Then, uncle,” said the soldier, “ I should have 
been very sorry and ashamed to propose to you anything 
.in the way of expiation of my own sins, or those of my 
follower, that I thought worth your acceptance ; but now, 
as all is forgiven, will you permit the orphan-nephew to 
whom you have been a father, to offer you a trifle, which 
I have been assured is really curious, and which only the 
cross accident of my wound has prevented my delivering 
to you before.? I got it from a French Savant to whom 
I rendered some service after the Alexandria affair.” 

The captain put a small ring-case into the Antiquary’s 
hands, which, when opened, was found to contain an an- 
tique ring of massive gold, with a cameo, most oeautifully 
executed, bearing a head of Cleopatra. The Antiquary 
broke forth into unrepressed ecstasy, shook his nephew 
cordially by the hand, thanked him an hundred times, 
and showed the ring to his sister and niece, the latter ol 
whom had the tact to give it sufficient admiration ; but 
Miss Griselda (though she had the same affection for her 
nephew) had not address enough to follow the lead. 

■ It’s a bonny thing,” she said, Monkbarns, and, I 
dare say, a valuable — but it’s out o’ my way — ye ken I 
am nae judged’ sic matters.” 

“ There spoke all Fairport in one voice !” exclaimed 
Oldbuck ; “ it is the very spirit of the borough has infect- 
ed us all ; I think I have smelled the smoke these two 
days, that the wind has stuck, like a remora, in the north- 
east — and its prejudices fly farther than its vapours. Be- 
lieve me, my dear Hector were I to walk up the High- 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


87 


Street of Fairport, displaying this inestimab e gem in the 
eyes of each one I met, no human creature, from the 
provost to the town-crier, would stop to ask me its histo- 
ry. But if 1 carried a bale of linen cloth under my arm, 
1 could not penetrate to the Horse-market ere I should 
be overwhelmed with queries about its precise texture 
and price. O, one might parody their brutal ignorance 
in the words of Gray : 


‘ Weave the warp and weave the woof, 
The windina:-shect of wit and sense, 
Dull garment of defensive proof 
'Gainst all that doth not gather pence.' " 


The most remarkable proof of this peace-offering being 
quite acceptable, was, that while the Antiquary was in full 
declamation, Juno, who held him in awe, according to 
the remarkable instinct by which dogs instantly discover 
those who like or dislike them, had peeped several times 
into the room, and encountering nothing very forbidding 
in his aspect, had at length presumed to introduce her 
whole person, and finally, becoming bold by impunity, she' 
actually ate up Mr. Oldbuck’s toast, as, looking first at 
one, then at another of his audience, he repeated with 
self-complacency, 

“ Weave the warp and weave the woof," 

“ You remember the passage in the Fatal Sisters, 

which, by the w^ay, is not so fine as in the original 

But, hey-day ! my toast has vanished ! — I see which 
way — Ah, thou type of womankind, no wonder they take 
offence at thy generic appellation !” — (So saying, he 
shook his fist at Juno, who scoured out of the parlour.) 
— “ However, as Jupiter, according to Homer, could not 
rule Juno in Heaven, and as Jack Muirhead, according 
to Hector M’Intyre, has been equally unsuccessful on 
earth, I suppose she must have her own way.” And this 
mild censure the brother and sister justly accounted a full 
pardon for Juno’s offences, and sat down well pleased tn 
the morning meal. 


68 


THE ANTIQ^TJART® 


When breakfast was over, the Aniiquary proposed ‘c 
his nephew to go down with him to attend the funeral. 
The soldier pleaded the want of a mourning habit. 

“ O that does not signify — your presence is all that is 
requisite. I assure you, you will see something that will 
entertain — no, that’s an improper phrase — but that will 
interest you, from the resemblances which I will point out 
betwixt popular customs on such occasions and those of 
the ancients.” 

“ Heaven forgive me !” thought M’Intyre ; “ I shall 
certainly misbehave, and lose all the credit I have so lately 
and accidentally gained.” 

When they set out, schooled as he was by the warning 
and entreating looks of his sister, the soldier made his 
resolution strong to give no offence by evincing inatten- 
tion or impatience. But our best resolutions are frail, 
when opposed to our predominant inclinations. Our 
Antiquary, to leave nothing unexplained, had commenced 
with the funeral rites of the ancient Scandinavians, when 
his nephew interrupted him in a discussion upon the “ age 
of hills,” to remark that a large sea-gull, which flitted 
around them, had come twice within shot. This error 
being acknowledged and pardoned, Oldbuck resumed his 
disquisition. 

‘‘ These are circumstances you ought to attend to and 
be familiar with, my dear Hector ; for, in the strange 
contingencies of the present war which agitates every 
corner of Europe, there is no knowing where you may be 
called upon to serve. If in Norway, for example, or 
Denmark, or any part of the ancient Scania, or Scan- 
dinavia, as we term it, what could be more convenient 
than to have at your fingers’ ends the history and anti- 
quities of that ancient country, tlie ojjicina gentium, the 
rnotiier of modern Europe, the nursery of those hero3s. 

Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, 

Who smiled in death ? 

How animating, for example, at the conclusion of a weary 
march, to find yourself in the vicinity of a Runic monu- 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


89 


ment, and discover that you had pitched your tent besido 
tlie tomb of a hero !’^ 

“ I am afraid, sir, our mess would be better supplied 
if it chanced to be in the neighbourhood of a good poul- 
try-yard.” 

“ Alas, thatyou should say so! — No wonder the days of 
Cressy and Agincourt are no more, when respect for an- 
cient valour has died away in the breasts of the British 
soldiery.” 

“ By no means, sir — by no manner of means. I dare 
say that Edward and Henry, and the rest of these heroes, 
thought of their dinner, however, before they thought of 
examining an old tombstone. But 1 assure you, we are 
by no means insensible to the memory of our fathers’ 
fame ; I used often of an evening to get old Rory M’Alpin 
to sing us songs out of Ossian about the battles of Fingal 
and Lamon Mor, and Magnus and the spirit of Muirar- 
tach.” 

“ And did you believe,” asked the aroused Antiquary, 
‘‘ did you absolutely believe that stuff of Macpherson’s to 
be really ancient, you simple boy *?” 

“ Believe it, sir 9 — how could I but believe it, when 1 
have heard the songs sung from my infancy 

“ But not the same as Macpherson’s English Ossian — 
you’re not absurd enough to say that, I hope said the 
Antiquary, his brow darkening with wi ath. 

But Hector stoutly abode the storm ; like many a stur- 
dy Celt, he imagined the honour of his country and native 
language connected \^ih the authenticity of these popular 
poems, and would have fought knee-deep, or forfeited 
life and land, rather than have giv'en up a line of them. 
He therefore undauntedly maintained that Rory M’Alpin 
could repeat the whole book from one end to another ; 
and it was only upon cross-examination that he exjdained 
an assertion so general, by adding, “ At least, if he was 
allowed whisky enough, he could repeat as long as any- 
body would hearken to him.” 

VOL. II. 


90 


Tllli A^TIQ,UAIlT. 


“ Ay, ay,” said the Antiquary ; and that, I suppose 
was not very long.” 

“ Why, we had our duty, sir, to attend to, and coulci 
not sit listening all night to a ])iper.” 

“ But do you recollect now,” said Oldbuck, setting his 
teeth firmly together, and speaking wichout opening them, 
which was his custom when contradicted — “ Do you 
recollect, now, any of these verses you thought so beau- 
tiful and interesting — being a capltiil judge, no doubt, of 
such things d” 

“ I don’t pretend to much skill, uncle ; but it’s not 
very reasonable to be angry with me for admiring the an- 
tiquities of my owm country more than those of the Har- 
olds, Harfagers, and Hacos you are so. fond of.” 

“ Why, these, sir — these mighty and iinconquered 
Goths, — were your ancestors I The bare-breeched. Celts 
whom they subdued, and suffered only to exist, like a 
fearful people, in the crevices of the rocks, were but their 
Mancipia and Serfs !” 

Hector’s brow now grevv red in his turn. “ Sir,” he 
said, “ I don’t understand the meaning of Mancipia and 
Serfs, but I conceive such names are very improperly ap- 
plied to Scotch Highlanders. No man but my mother’s 
brother dared to have used such language in my presence ; 
and I pray you will observe, that I consider it as neither hos- 
pitable, handsome, kind, nor generous usage towards your 
guest and your kinsman. My ancestors, Mr. Oldbuck” — 

“ Were great and gallant chiefs, I dare say. Hector ; 
and really I did not mean to give you such immense of- 
fence in treating a point of remote antiquity, a subject on 
which I always am myself cool, deliberate, and unimpas- 
sioned. But you are as hot and hasty, as if you were 
Hector and Achilles, and Agamemnon to boot.” 

I am sorry I expressed myself so hastily, uncle, es- 
pecially to you, who have been so generous and good— • 
But my ancestors” . 

No more about it, lad ; I meant them no affront — 
none.” 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


91 


‘‘ I am glad of it, sir ; for the house of M’Intyre”— • 

“ Peace be with them all, every man of them,” said 
Jhe Antiquary. “ But to return to our subject — Do you 
recollect, I say, any of those poems which afforded you 
such amusement 

“ Very hard this,” thought M’Intyre, “ that he will 
speak w'ith such glee of every thing which is ancient, ex- 
cepting my family.” — Then, after some efforts at recol- 
lection, he added aloud, “ Yes, sir — I think I do remem- 
ber some lines ; but you do not understand the Gaelic 
language.” 

“ And will readily excuse hearing it. But you can 
give me some idea of the sense in our own vernacular 
idiom 9” 

“ I shall prove a wretched interpreter,” said M’Intyre, 
running over the original, well garnished with aghes, 
aughs^ and oughs, and similar gutturals, and then cough- 
ing and hawking as if the translation stuck in his throat. 
At length, having premised that the poem was a dialogue 
between the poet Oisin, or Ossian, and Patrick, the tute- 
lar Saint of Ireland, and that it was difficult, if not im- 
possible, to render the exquisite felicity of the first two or 
three lines, he said the sense was to this purpose : 

Patrick the psalm-singer, 

Since you will not listen to one of my stories, 

Though you never heard it before, 

I am sorry to tell you 

You are little better than an ass ” 


“ Good ! good !” exclaimed the Antiquary ; “ but go 
on. Why, this is, after all, the most admirable fooling — 
[ dare say the poet was very right. What says the 
Saint 9” 

“ He replies in character,” said M’Intyre ; “ but you 
should hear M’Alpin sing the original. The speeches of 
Ossian come in upon a strong deep bass — those of Patrick 
are upon a tenor key.” 

“ Like M’Alpin’s drone and small pipes. I suppose,” 
said Oldbuck. “Well? Pray, go on.” 


92 


THE ANTKtUAUY. 


Well then, Patrick replies to Ossian : 

" Upon my word, son of Fingal, 

While I am warbling- the psalms, 

The clamour of your old women's tales 
Disturbs my devotional exercises.” 

‘‘ Excellent ! — why, this is better and better. I hope 
Saint Patrick sung better than Blattergowl’s precentor, or 
it would be hang-choice between the poet and psalmist. 
But what I admire is the courtesy of these two eminent 
persons towards each other. It is a pity there should not 
be a word of this in Macpherson’s translation.” 

“ If you are sure of that,” said M’Intyre, gravely, 
“ he must have taken very unwarrantable liberties with 
his original.” 

“ It will go near to be thought so shortly — but pray 
proceed.” 

“ Then,” said M’Intyre, “ this is the answer of Ossian . 

Dare you compare your psalms. 

You son of a” 


“ Son of a what [’’exclaimed Oldbuck. 

‘ It means, I think,” said the young soldier, with some 
reluctance, “ son of a female dog : 


Do you compare your psalms. 

To the tales of the bare-arm’d Fenians ?” 


“ Are you sure you are translating that last epithet 
correctly. Hector 9” 

“ Quite sure, sir,” answered Hector, doggedly. 

“ Because I should have thought the nudity might have 
oeen quoted as existing in a difierent part of the body.’ 

Disdaining to reply to this insinuation. Hector proceed- 
ed in his recitation * 


I shall think it no great harm 
To wring your bald head from your shoulders” 


THE ANTICtUAUY. 


93 


‘‘ But what is that yonder 9” said Hector, interrupting 
himself. 

One of the herd of Proteus,” said the Antiquary — 
• a Phoca, or seal, lying asleep on the beach.” 

Upon which M’Intyre, with the eagerness of a young 
sportsman, totally forgot both Ossian, Patrick, his uncle, 
and his wound, and, exclaiming, “ I shall have her ! 1 
shall have her !” snatched the walking-stick out of the 
hand of the astonished Antiquary, at some risk of throw- 
ing him down, and set olF at full speed to get between 
the animal and the sea, to which element, having caught 
the alarm, she was rapidly retreating. 

Not Sanchoj when his master interrupted his account 
of the combatants of Pentapolin with the naked arm, to 
advance in person to the charge of the flock of sheep, 
stood more confounded than Oldbuck at this sudden es- 
capade of his nephew. 

“ Is the devil in him,” was his first exclamation, “ to 
go to disturb the brute that v/as never thinking of him !” 
— Then elevating his voice, “ Hector — nephew — fool — 
let alone the Phoca — let alone the Phoca — thry bite, I 
tell you, like furies. — He minds me no more than a post 
— there — there they are at it — Gad, the Phoca has the 
best of it ! I am glad to see it,” said he, in tlie bitterness 
of his heart, though really alarmed for his nephew’s 
safety ; “ I am glad to see it, with all my heart and spirit.” 

In truth, the seal, finding her retreat intercepted by the 
light-footed soldier, coinronted him manfully, and having 
sustained a heavy blow without injury, she knitted her 
brows, as is the fashion of the 'inimal when, incensed, and 
making use at once of her fore paws and her unwieldy 
strength, v?Tenched the weapon out of the assailant’s 
hand, overturned him on the sands, and scuttled away 
into the sea without doing him any farther injury. Cap- 
tain M’intyre, a good deal cut of countenance at the issue 
of his exploit, just rose in liiae to receive the Ironical 
cougratiil?.tior-«: of bis uncle, upon a singb^ combat, wmrthy 
to be commiemorated by Ossia.i himself, “ since,” said 
the Antiquary, “ your magnanimous opponent hath fled. 


94 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


though not upon eagle’s wings, from the foe that was low 
Egad, she wallopped away with all the grace of tri- 
umph, and has carried my stick off also, by way of spoUa 
opimaJ*^ 

M’Intyre had little to answer for himself, except that a 
Highlander could never pass a deer, a seal, or a salmon, 
where there was a possibility of having a trial of skill with 
them, and that he had forgot one of his arms was m a 
sling. He also made his fall an apology for returning 
back to Monkbarns, and thus escaped the farther raillery 
of his uncle, as well as his lamentations for his walking- 
stick. 

“ I cut it,” he said, “ in the classic woods of Haw- 
thornden, when I did not expect always to have been a 
bachelor — I would not have given it for an ocean of seals 
— O Hector, Hector ! — thy namesake was born to be the 
prop of Troy, and thou to be the plague of Monkbarns 


CHAPTER X. 

Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep, 
Their tears are luke-warm brine ; — from our old eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-dr ops of the North, 
Chilling the furrows of our wither’d cheeks, 

Cold as our hopes, and harden’d as our feeling — 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — ours recoil. 

Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us. 

Old Pixy 


The Antiquary, being now alone, hastened his pace, 
which had been retarded by these various discussions, and 
the rencontre which had dosed them, and soon arrived 
before the half-dozen cottages at Mussel-crag. They now 
had, in addition to their usual squalid and uncomfortable 
appearance, the melancholy attributes of the house of 
mourning. The boats were all drawn up on the beach , 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


95 


and, though the day was fine, and the season favourable, 
the chant, which is used by tlie fishers when at sea, was 
silent, as well as the prattle of the children, and the shrill 
song of the mother, as she sits mending her nets by the 
door. A few of the neighbours, some in their antique 
and well-saved suits of black, others in their ordinary 
clothes, but all bearing an expression of mournful sympa- 
thy with distress so sudden and unexpected, stood gath- 
ered around the door of Mucklebackifs cottage, wailing 
till “ the body was lifted.” As the Laird of Monkbarns 
approached, they, made way for him to enter, doffing their 
hats and bonnets as he passed, with an air of melancholy 
courtesy, and he returned their salutes in the same manner. 

In the inside of the cottage was a scene which our 
Wilkie alone could have painted, with that exquisite feel- 
ing of nature that characterizes his enchanting pro- 
ductions. 

The body was laid in its coffin within the wooden bed- 
stead which the young fisher had occupied while alive. 
At a little distance stood the father, whose rugged, weath- 
er-beaten countenance, shaded by his grizzled hair, had 
faced many a stormy night and night-like day. He was 
apparently revolving his loss in his mind with that strong 
feeling of painful grief, peculiar to harsh and rough char- 
acters, which almost breaks forth into hatred against the 
world, and all that remain in it, after the beloved object 
is withdrawn. The old man had made the most despe- 
rate efforts to save his son, and had only been withheld 
by main force from renewing them at a moment, when, 
without the possibility of assisting the sufferer, he must 
himself have perished. All this apparently was boiling 
in his recollection. His glance was directed sidelong 
towards the coffin, as to an object on which he could 
not steadfastly look, and yet from which he could not 
withdraw his eyes. His answers to the necessary ques- 
tions which were occasionally put to him, were brief, 
harsh, and almost fierce. His family had not yet dared 
to address to him a word, either of sympathy or consola- 
tion. His masculine wife, virago as she was, and abso- 


96 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


lute mistress of the family, as she justly boasted herself, 
on all ordinary occasions, was, by this great loss, terrified 
into silence and submission, and compelled to hide from 
her husband’s observation the bursts of her female sor- 
row. As he had rejected food ever since the disaster 
had happened, not daring herself to approach him, she had 
that morning, with affectionate artifice, employed the 
youngest and favourite child to present her husband with 
some nourishment. His first action was to push it from 
him with an angry violence, that frightened the child ; 
his next, to snatch up the boy and devour him with kisses. 
“ Ye’ll be a bra’ fallow an ye be spared, Patie, — but ye’ll 
never — never can be — what he was to me ! — he has 
sailed the coble wi’ me since he was ten years auld, and 
there wasna the like o’ him drew a net betwixt this and 
Buchan-ness — They say folks maun submit — I will try.” 

And he had been silent from that moment until com- 
pelled to answer the necessary questions we have already 
noticed. Such was the disconsolate state of the fatlier. 

In another corner of the cottage, her face covered by 
her apron, which was flung over it, sat the mother, the 
nature of her grief sufficiently indicated, by the wringing 
of her hands, and the convulsive agitation of the bosom 
which the covering could not conceal. Two of her gos- 
sips, officiously whispering into her ear the common-place 
topic of resignation under irremediable misfortune, seem- 
ed as if they were endeavouring to stun the grief which 
they could not console. 

The sorrow of the children was mingled with wonder 
at the preparations they beheld around them, and at the 
unusual display of w'heaten bread and wine, which the 
poorest peasant, or fisher, offers to the guests on these 
mournful occasions ; and thus their grief for their broth- 
er’s death was almost already lost in admiration of the 
splendour of his funeral. 

But the figure of the old grandmother was the most 
remarkable of the sorrowing group. Seated on her ac- 
customed chair, with her usual air of apathy, and want 
of interest in what surrounded her, she seemed every 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


97 


now and then mechanically to resume the motion of twirl- 
ing her spindle — then to look towards her bosom for the 
distaff, although both had been laid aside — She would then 
cast her eyes about as if surprised at missing the usual irr- 
plements of her industry, and appear strucK by the 
black colour of the gown in which they had dressed her, 
and embarrassed by the number of persons by whom she 
was surrounded — then, finally, she would raise her head 
with a ghastly look, and fix her eyes upon the bed which 
contained the coffin of her grandson, as if she had at 
once, and for the first time, acquired sense to comprehend 
her inexpressible calamity. These alternate feelings ot 
embarrassment, wonder, and grief, seemed to succeed 
each other more than once upon her torpid features. 
But she spoke not a word, neither had she shed a tear ; 
nor did one of the family understand, either from look 
or expression, to what extent she comprehended the un- 
common bustle around her. Thus she sat among the fune- 
ral assembly like a connecting link between the surviving 
mourners and the dead corpse which they bewailed — a 
being in whom the light of existence was already obscur- 
ed by the encroaching shadows of death. 

When Oldbuck entered this house of mourning, he 
was received by a general and silent inclination of the 
head, and according to the fashion of Scotland on such 
occasions, wine and spirits and bread were offered round 
to the guests. Elspeth, as these refreshments were pre- 
sented, surprised and startled the whole company by 
motioning to the person who bore them to stop ; then, 
taking a glass in her hand, she rose up, and, as the smile 
of dotage played upon her shrivelled features, she pro- 
nounced with a hollow and tremulous voice, “ Wishing 
a’ your healths, sirs, and often may we hae such merry 
meetings.” 

All shrunk from the ominous pledge, and set down the 
untasted liquor with a degree of shuddering horror, which 
will not surprise those who know now many superstitions 
are still common on such occasions among the Scottish 

VOL. II. 


98 


THE ANTICtUAR*. 


vulgar. But as the old woman tasted the liquor, she sud 
denly exclaimed with a sort of shriek, “ What’s this 
— this is wdne — how should there be wine in my son’s 
house 7 — Ay,” she continued, with a suppressed groan, 
“ I mind the sorrowful cause now,” and, dropping the 
glass from her hand, she stood a moment gazing fixedly 
on the bed in which the coffin of her grandson was de- 
posited, and then sinking gradually into her seat, she 
covered her eyes and forehead with her withered and 
pallid hand. 

At this moment the clergyman entered the cottage. Mr. 
Blattergowl, though a dreadful proser, particularly on the 
subject of augmentations, localities, teinds, and overtures 
in that session of the General Assembly, to which, unfortu- 
nately for his auditors, he chanced one year to act as mode- 
rator, was nevertheless a good man, in the old Scottish 
presbyterian phrase. God-ward and man-ward. No di- 
vine was more attentive in visiting the sick and afflicted, 
in catechising the youth, in instructing the ignorant, and 
in reproving the erring. And hence, notwithstanding 
impatience of his prolixity and prejudices, personal or 
professional, and notwithstanding, moreover, a certain 
liabitual contempt for his understanding, especially on 
affairs of genius and taste, on which Blattergowl was apt 
to be diffuse, from his hope of one day fighting his way 
to a chair of rhetoric or belles lettres, — notwithstanding, 
I say, all the prejudices excited against him by these 
circumstances, our friend the Antiquary looked with great 
regard and respect on the said Blattergowl, though I own 
he could seldom, even by his sense of decency and the 
remonstrances of his womankind, be hounded out, as he 
called it, to hear him preach. But he regularly took 
shame to himself for his absence when Blattergowd came 
to Monkbarns to dinner, to which he was always invited 
of a Sunday, a mode of testifying his respect which the 
proprietor probably thought fully as agreeable to the cler- 
gyman, and rather more congenial to his own habits. 

To return from a digression which can only serve tc 
introduce the honest clergyman more particularly to ouj 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


99 


readers, Mr. Blattergovvl had no sooner entered the hut, 
and received the mute and melancholy salutations of the 
company whom it contained, than he edged himself to- 
wards the unfortunate father, and seemed to endeavour 
to slide in a few words of condolence or of consolation. 
But the old man was incapable as yet of receiving either ; 
he nodded, however, gruffly, and shook the clergyman’s 
hand in acknowledgment of his good intentions, but was 
either unable or unwilling to make any verbal reply. 

The minister next passed to the mother, moving along 
the floor as slowly, silently, and gradually, as if he had 
been afraid that the ground would, like unsafe ice, break 
beneath his feet, or that the first echo of a footstep was 
to dissolve some magic spell, and plunge the hut, with 
all its inmates, into a subterranean abyss. The tenor of 
what he had said to the poor woman could only be judg- 
ed by her answers, as, half-stifled by sobs ill-repressed, 
and by the covering which she still kept over her counte- 
nance, she faintly answered at each pause in his speech — 
“ Yes, sir, yes ! — Ye’re very gude — ye’re very gude ! — 
Nae doubt, nae doubt ! — it’s our duty to submit ! — But, 
O dear, my poor Steenie, the pride o’ my very heart, 
that was sae handsome and comely, and a help to his 
family, and a comfort to us a’, and a pleasure to a’ that 
lookit on him ! — O my bairn, my bairn, my bairn ! what 
for is thou lying there, and eh ! what for am I left to greet 
for ye !” 

There was no contending with this burst of sorrow and 
natural affection. Oldbuck had repeated recourse to his 
snuff-box to conceal the tears which, despite his shrewd 
and caustic temper, were apt to start on such occasions. 
The female assistants whimpered, the men held their 
bonnets to their faces, and spoke apart with each other. 
The clergyman meantime addressed his ghostly consola- 
tion to the aged grandmother. At first she listened, or 
seemed to listen, to what he said, with the apathy of her 
usual unconsciousness. But as, in pressing this theme, 
he approached so near to her ear, that the sense of his 
words became distinctly intelligible to her, though un- 


100 


THE ANTKiUART. 


heard by those who stood more distant, her countenance 
at once assumed that stern and expressive cast which 
characterized her intervals of intelligence. She drew up 
her head and body, shook her head in a manner that 
showed at least impatience, if not scorn of his counsel, and 
waved her hand slightly, but with a gesture so expres- 
sive, as to indicate to all who witnessed it a marked and 
disdainful rejection of the ghostly consolation proffered to 
her. The minister stepped back as if repulsed, and, by 
lifting gently and dropping his hand, seemed to show at 
once wonder, sorrow, and compassion for her dreadful 
state of mind. The rest of the company sympathized, 
and a stifled whisper went through them, indicating how 
much hei desperate and determined manner impressed 
them with awe and even horror. 

In the mean time the funeral company was completed, 
by the arrival of one or two persons who had been ex- 
pected from Fairport. The wine and spirits again circu- 
lated, and the dumb show of greeting was anew inter- 
changed. The grandame a second time took a glass in 
her hand, (k*ank its contents, and exclaimed with a soit 
of laugh, — “ Ha ! ha ! I hae tasted wine twice in ae day 
— Whan did 1 that before, think ye, cummers 9 — Never 
since” 

And the transient glow vanishing from her counte- 
nance, she set the glass down and sunk upon the settle 
from whence she had risen to snatch at it. 

As the general amazement subsided, Mr. Oldbuck, 
whose heart bled to witness what he considered as the 
errings of the enfeebled intellect struggling with the torpid 
chill of age and of sorrow, observed to the clergyman that 
it was time to proceed to the ceremony. The father 
was incapable of giving directions, but the nearest rela- 
tion of the family made a sign to the carpenter, who in 
such cases goes through the duty of the undertaker, to 
proceed in his office. The creak of the screw-nails pre- 
sently announced that the lid of the last mansion of mor- 
tality was in the act of being secured above its tenant 
The last act which separates us for ever, even from the 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


101 


mortal reliques of the person we assemble to mourn, has 
usually its effect upon the most indifferent, selfish, and 
hard-hearted. With a spirit of contradiction, which we 
may be pardoned for esteeming narrow-minded, the fath- 
ers of the Scottish kirk rejected, even on this most solemn 
occasion, the form of an address to the Divinity, lest they 
should be thought to give countenance to the rituals ol 
Rome or of England. With much better and more lib- 
eral judgment, it is the present practice of most of the 
Scottish clergymen to seize this opportunity of offering a 
prayer, and exhortation, suitable to make an impression 
upon the living, while they are yet in the very presence ol 
the reliques of him, whom they have but lately seen such 
as they themselves, and who now is such as they must in 
their time become. But this decent and praiseworthy 
practice was not adopted at the time of which I am treat- 
ing, or, at least, Mr. Blattergowl did not act upon it, and 
the ceremony proceeded without any devotional exercise. 

The cofBn, covered with a pall, and supported upon 
handspikes by the nearest relatives, now only waited the 
father to support the head, as is customary. Two or 
three of these privileged persons spoke to him, but he 
only answered by shaking his hand and his head in token 
of refusal. With better intention than judgment, the 
friends who considered this as an act of duty on the part 
of the living, and of decency towards the deceased, 
would have proceeded to enforce their request, had not 
Oldbuck interfered between the distressed father and 
his well-meaning tormentors, and informed them, that he 
himself, as landlord and master to the deceased, “ would 
carry his head to the grave.” In spite of the sorrowful 
occasion, the hearts of the relatives swelled within them 
at so marked a distinction on the part of the Laird ; and 
old Ailison Breck, who was present, among other fish- 
women, swore almost aloud, “ His honour Monkbarns 
should never want sax warp of oysters in the season, (of 
which fish he was understood to be fond,) if she should 
gang to sea and dredge for them hersell, in the foulest 

VOL. II. 


102 


THE ANTiaiJARY. 


wind that ever blew.” And such is the temper of the 
Scottish common people, that by this instance of compli- 
ance with their customs, and respect for their persons, 
Mr. Oldbuck gained more popularity than by all tho sums 
which he had yearly distributed in the parish for purpo- 
ses of private or general charity. 

The sad procession now moved slowly forward, pre- 
ceded by the beadles, or saulies, with their batons, — mis- 
erable-looking old men, tottering as if on the edge of that 
grave to which they were marshalling another, and clad, 
according to Scottish guise, with threadbare black co?ts, 
and hunting-caps decorated with rusty crape. Monk- 
barns would probably have remonstrated against this 
superfluous expense, had he been consulted ; but, in do- 
ing so, he would have given more offence than he gained 
popularity by condescending to perform the office of chief 
mourner. Of this he was quite aware, and wisely with- 
held rebuke, where rebuke and advice would have been 
equally unavailing. In truth, the Scottish peasantry are 
still infected with that rage for funeral ceremonial, which 
once distinguished the grandees of the kingdom so much, 
that a sumptuary law was made by the Parliament of 
Scotland for the purpose of restraining it ; and I have 
known many in the lowest stations, who have denied 
themselves not merely the comforts, but almost the neces- 
saries of life, in order to save such a sum of money as 
might enable their surviving friends to bury them like 
Christians, as they termed it ; nor could their faithful 
executors be prevailed upon, though equally necessitous, 
to turn to the use and maintenance of the living, the 
money vainly wasted upon the interment of the dead. 

The procession to the church-yard, at about half-a- 
mile’s distance, was made with the mournful solemnity 
usual on these occasions, — the body was consigned to its 
parent earth, — and when the labour of the grave-diggers 
had filled up the trench, and covered it with fresh sod, 
Mr. Oldbuck, taking his liat off, saluted the assistants, who 
had stood by in melancholy silence, and with that adieu 
dispersed the mourners. 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


03 


The clergyman offered our Antiquary his company to 
walk homeward ; but Mr. Oldbuck had been so much 
struck with the deportment of the fisherman and his moth* 
er, that, moved by compassion, and perhaps also, in some 
degree, by that curiosity which induces us to seek out 
even what gives us pain to witness, he preferred a solita- 
ry walk by the coast, for the purpose of again visiting 
the cottage as he passed. 


CHAPTER XL 

What is this secret sin, this untold tale, 

That art cannot extract, nor penance cleanse ? 

Her muscles hold their place ; 

Nor discomposed, nor formed to steadiness. 

No sudden flushing^, and no faltering lip. 

Mysterious Mother. 

The coffin had been borne from the place where it 
rested. The mourners, in regular gradation, according 
to their rank or their relationship to the deceased, had 
filed from the cottage, while the younger male children 
were led along to totter after the bier of their brother, and 
to view with wonder a ceremonial which they could hardly 
comprehend. The female gossips next rose to depart, 
and, with consideration for the situation of the parents, 
carried along with them the girls of the family, to give the 
unhappy pair time and opportunity to open their hearts to 
each other, and soften their grief by communicating it. 
But their kind intention was without effect. The last of 
them had darkened the entrance of the cottage, as she 
went out, and drawn the door softly behind her, when the 
father, first ascertaining by a hasty glance that no stranger 
remained, started up, clasped his hands wildly above his 
head, uttered a cry of the despair which he had hitherto 
'•epressed, and, in all the impotent impatience of grief 


104 


THE ANTK^UART. 


half rushed half staggered forward to the bed on which 
the coffin had been deposited, threw himself down upon 
it, and smothering, as it were, his head among the bed- 
clothes, gave vent to the full passion of his sorrow. It 
was in vain that the wretched mother, terrified by the ve- 
hemence of her husband’s affliction — affliction still more 
fearful as agitating a man of hardened manners and a ro- 
bust frame — suppressed her own sobs and tears, and pull- 
ing him by the skirts of his coat, implored him to rise and 
remember, that, though one was removed, he had still a 
wife and children to comfort and support. The appeal 
came at too early a period of his anguish, and was totally 
unattended to ; he continued to remain prostrate, indicat- 
ing, by sobs so bitter and violent that they shook the bed 
and partition against which it rested, by clenched hands 
which grasped the bed-clothes, and by the vehement and 
convulsive motion of his legs, how deep and how terrible 
was the agony of a father’s sorrow. 

‘‘ 0,what a day is this ! what a day is this !” said the 
poor mother, her womanish affliction already exhausted 
by sobs and tears, and now almost lost in terror for the 
state in which she beheld her husband ; “ O, what an 
hour is this ! and naebody to help a poor lone woman — 
O, gudemither, could ye but speak a word to him ! — wad 
ye but bid him be comforted !” 

To her astonishment, and even to the increase of her 
fear, her husband’s mother heard and answered the ap- 
peal. She rose and walked across the floor without sup- 
port, and without much apparent feebleness, and standing 
by the bed on wdiich her son had extended himself, she 
said, “ Rise up, my son, and sorrow not for him that is 
beyond sin and sorrow and temptation — Sorrow is for 
those that remain in this vale of sorrow and darkness — I, 
wffia dinna sorrow, and wha canna sorrow for ony ane, hae 
maist need that ye should a’ sorrow for me.” 

The voice of his mother, not heard for years as taking 
part in the active duties of life, or offering advice or con- 
solation, produced its effect upon her son. He assumed 
a sitting posture on the side of the bed, and his appear- 


TIIK ANTIQ,UART« 


105 


ance, attitude, and gestures, changed from those of angry 
despair to deep grief and dejection. The grandmother 
retired to her nook, the mother mechanically took in hei 
hand her tattered Bible, and seemed to read, though her 
eyes were drowned with tears. 

They were thus occupied when a loud knock was 
heard at the door. 

“ Hegh, sirs !” said the poor mother, “wha is it that 
can be coming in that gate e’enow 9 — They canna hae 
heard o’ our misfortune, I’m sure.” 

The knock being repeated, she rose and opened the 
door, saying, querulously, “ Whatna gait’s that to disturb 
a sorrowfu’ house 9” 

A tall man in black stood before her, whom she in- 
stantly recognized to be Lord Glenallan. 

“ Is there not,” he said, “ an old woman lodging in this 
or one of the neighbouring cottages, called Elspeth, who 
was long resident at Craigburnfoot of Glenallan 9” 

“ It’s my gudemither, my lord,” said Margaret ; “ but 
she canna see ony body e’enow — Ohon ’ we’re dreeing 
a sair weird — we hae had a heavy dispensation !” 

“ God forbid,” said Lord Glenallan, “ that I should 
on light occasion disturb your sorrow — but my days are 
numbered — your mother-in-law is in the extremity of 
age, and, if I see her not to-day, we may never meet on 
this side of time.” 

“ And what,” answered the desolate mother, “ wad ye 
see at an auld woman, broken down wi’ age and sorrow 
and heartbreak ? — Gentle or semple shall not darken my 
doors ilie day my bairn’s been carried out a corpse.” 

While she spoke thus, indulging the natural irritability 
of disposition and profession, which began to mingle 
itself in some degree with her grief when As first uncon- 
trolled bursts were gone by, she held the door about one- 
third part open, and placed herself in the gap, as if to 
render the visiter’s entrance impossible. But the voice 
of her husband was heard from within — “ Wha’s that, 
Maggie 9 what for are ye steeking them out 9 — let them 


106 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


come in — it doesna signify an auld rope’s end wha’ comes 
in or wha’ gaes out o’ this house frae this time forward.” 

The woman stood aside at her husband’s command, 
and permitted Lord Glenallan to enter the hut. The de- 
jection exhibited in his broken frame and emaciated coun- 
tenance, formed a strong contrast with the effects of grief 
as they were displayed in the rude and w^eatherbeaten 
visage of tlie fisherman, and the masculine features of his 
wife. He approached the old woman as she was seated 
on her usual settle, and asked her, in a tone as audible 
as his voice could make it, “ Are you Elspeth of the 
Craigburnfoot of Glenallan 9” 

“ Wha’ is it that asks about the unhallowed residence 
of that evil woman 7” was the answer returned to his 
query. 

“ The unhappy Earl of Glenallan.” 

‘‘ Earl — Earl of Glenallan !” 

‘‘ He who was called William Lord Geraldin,” said the 
Earl ; “ and whom his mother’s death has made Earl of 
Glenallan.” 

“ Open the bole,” said the old woman firmly and hast- 
ily to her daughter-in-law, “ open the bole wi’ speed, that 
I may see if this be the right Lord Geraldin — the son of 
my mistress — him that I received in my arms within the 
hour after he was born — him that has reason to curse me 
that I didna smother him before the hour was past !” 

The window, which had been shut, in order that a 
gloomy twilight might add to the solemnity of the funeral 
meeting, was opened as she commanded, and threw a 
sudden and strong light through the smoky and misty 
atmosphere of the stifling cabin. Falling in a stream 
upon the chimney, the rays illuminated, in the way that 
Rembrandt would have chosen, the features of the un- 
fortunate nobleman, and those of the old sibyl, who now, 
standing upon her feet, and holding him by one hand, 
peered anxiously in his features with her light-blue eyes, 
and holding her long and withered forefinger within a 
small distance of his face, moved it slowly as if to trace 
the outlines, and reconcile what she recollected with that 


THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


107 


ihe now beheld^ As she finished her scrutiny, she said, 
with a deep sigh, “ It’s a sair — sair change — and wha’s 
fault is it i — but that’s written down where it will be re- 
membered — it’s written on tablets of brass with a pen of 
steel, where all is recorded that is done in the flesh — 
And what,” she said, after a pause, “ what is Lord Geral- 
din seeking fiom a puir auld creature like me, that’s dead 
already, and only belangs sae far to the living that she 
isna yet laid in the moulds 9” 

“ Nay,” answered Lord Glenallan, “ in the name of 
Heaven, why was it that you requested so urgently to see 
me ‘'J and why did you back your request by sending a 
token, which you knew well I dared not refuse 

As he spoke thus, he took from his purse the ring which 
Edie Ochiltree had delivered to him at Glenallan-house. 
The sight of this token produced a strange and instanta- 
neous effect upon the old woman. The palsy of fear 
was immediately added to that of age, and she began 
instantly to search her pockets with the tremulous and 
hasty agitation of one who becomes first apprehensive of 
having lost something of great importance — then, as if 
convinced of the reality of her fears, she turned to the 
Earl, and demanded, “ And how came ye by it, then 9 — 
how came ye by it ? — I thought I had kept it sae se- 
curely — what will the Countess say 

“ You know,” said the Earl, “ at least you must have 
heard, that my mother is dead.” 

“ Dead ! are ye no imposing upon me 9 has she left a’ 
at last, lands and lordship and lineages'?” 

“ All, all,” said the Earl, “ as mortals must leave all 
human vanities.” 

“ 1 mind now,” answered Elspeth, “ I heard of it be- 
fore ; but there has been sic distress in our house since, 
and my memory is sae muckle impaired — But ye are 
sure your mother, the Lady Countess, is gane hame *?” 

The Earl again assured her that her former mistress 
was no more. 

Then,” said Elspeth, “ it shall burden my mind nae 
langer ! — When she lived, wha dared to speak what it 
16 


108 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


would liae displeased her to hae bad noised abroad 9- • 
But she’s gane — and I will confess all.” 

Then, turning to her son and daughter-in-law, she coin- 
manded them imperatively to quit the house, and leave 
Lord Geraldin (for so she still called him) alone witlj 
her. But Maggie Mucklebackit, her first burst of grid 
being over, was by no means disposed in her own house to 
pay passive obedience to the commands of her mother- 
in-law, an authority which is peculiarly obnoxious to 
persons in her rank of life, and which she was the more 
astonished at hearing revived, when it seemed to have been 
so long relinquished and forgotten. 

“ It was an unco’ thing,” she said, in a grumbling tone 
of voice, — for the rank of Lord Glenallan was somewhat 
imposing — “ it was an unco’ thing to bid a mother leave 
her ain house wi’ the tear in her ee, the moment her eld- 
est son had been carried a corpse out at the door o’t.” 

The fisherman, in a stubborn and sullen tone, added 
to the same purpose, “ This is nae day for your aiild 
warld stories, mother — My lord, if he be a lord, may ca’ 
some other day — or he may speak mt what he has gotten 
to say if he likes it — There’s nane here will think it worth 
their while to listen to him or you either. But neither for 
laird or loon, gentle or semple, will I leave my ain house 
to pleasure ony body on the very day my poor” 

Here his voice choked, and he could proceed no farth- 
er ; but as he had risen when Lord Glenallan came in 
and had since remained standing, he now threw himself 
doggedly upon a seat, and remained in the sullen posture 
of one who was determined to keep his word. 

But the old woman, whom this crisis seemed to repos^ 
sessin all those powers of mental superiority with which 
she had once been eminently gifted, arose, and, advancing 
towards him, said with a solemn voice, “ My son, as ye 
wad shun hearing of your mother’s shame, — as ye wad 
not willingly be a witness of her guilt, — as ye wad deserve 
her blessing and avoid her curse, I charge ye, by the body 
that bore and that nursed ye,to leave me at freedom to 
speak with Lord Geraldin, what nae mortal ears but his 


THE ANTIQ^UART. 


10 '^ 

ain maun listen to. Obey my words, that Ivhcn ye lay 
the moulds on my head,— and O that the day w^ere come!— 
ye may remember this hour without the reproach of hav- 
ing disobeyed the last earthly command that ever your 
mother wared on you.” 

The terms of this solemn charge revived in the fisher- 
man’s heart the habit of instinctive obedience, in which 
his mother had trained him up, and to which he had sub- 
mitted implicitly while her powers of exacting it remain- 
ed entire. The recollection ^ningled also with the pre- 
vailing passion of the moment ; for, glancing his eye at 
the bed on which the dead body had been laid, he muttered 
to himself, “ He never disobeyed me, in reason or out o’ 
reason, and what for should I vex her ?” Then, taking 
his reluctant spouse by tbe arm, he led her gently out of 
the cottage, and latched the door behind them as he left it. 

As the unhappy parents withdrew. Lord Glenallan, to 
prevent the old woman from relapsing into her letharg}^, 
again pressed her on the subject of the communication 
which she proposed to make to him. 

“Ye will have it sune eneugh,” she replied ; “ my 
mind’s clear eneugh now, and there is not — I think there 
is not — a chance of my forgetting what I have to say. 
My dwelling at Craigburnfoot is before my een, as it were 
present in reality — the green bank, with its selvidge, just 
where the burn met wi’ the sea — the twa little barks, wi’ 
their sails furled, lying in the natural cove which it form- 
ed — the high cliff that joined it with the pleasure-grounds 
of the house of Glenallan, and hung right ower the stream 
— Ah ! yes, I may forget that I had a husband and have lost 
him — that 1 hae but ane alive of our four fair sons — that 
misfortune upon misfortune has devoured our ill-gotten 
wealth — that they carried the corpse of my son’s eldest- 
born frae the house this morning — But 1 never can forget 
the days 1 spent at bonny Craigburnfoot !” 

“ You were a favourite of my mother,” said Lord 
Glenallan, desirous to bring her back to the point, from 
which she was wandering. 

VOL. II. 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


I 0 

“ I was, 1 was — ye needna mind me o’ that. She 
brouglit me up abune my station, and wi’ knowledge mail 
than my fellows — but, like the tempter of auld, wi’ the 
knowledge of gude she taught me the knowledge of evil.” 

“ For God’s sake, Elspeth,” said the astonished Earl, 
“ proceed, if you can, to explain the dreadful hints you 
have thrown out ! — I well know you are confidant to one 
dreadful secret, which should split this roof even to hear it 
named — but speak on farther.” 

“ 1 will,” she said, — “ J will — just bear wi’ me for a 
little — and again she seemed lost in recollection, but 
it was no longer tinged with imbecility or apathy. She 
was now entering upon the topic which had long loaded 
her mind, and which doubtless often occupied her whole 
soul at times when she seemed dead to all around her. 
And I may add, as a remarkable fact, that such was the 
intense operation of mental energy upon her physical 
powers and nervous system, that, notwithstanding her 
infirmity of deafness, each word that Lord Glenallan spoke 
during this remarkable conference, although in the lowest 
tone of horror and agony, fell as full and distinct upon 
Elspeth’s ear as it could have done at any period of her 
life. She spoke also herself clearly, distinctly, and slow- 
ly, as if anxious that the intelligence she communicated 
should be fully understood ; concisely at the same time, 
and with none of the verbiage or circumlocutory additions 
natural to those of her sex and condition. In short, her 
language bespoke a better education, as well as an un- 
commonly firm and resolved mind, and a character of that 
sort from which great virtues or great crimes may be nat- 
urally expected. The tenor of her communica/ion is 
disclosed in the following chapter. 


THE AXTiq^IJARY. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XII. 


Remorse— she ne’er forsakes us — 

A bloodhound staunch — she tracks our rapid step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, 

Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us ; 

Then in our lair, when Tin^ hath chill’d our joints. 

And maim’d our hope of combat, or of flight. 

We hear her deep-mouth’d bay, announcing all 
Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. 

Old Play. 

I NERD not tell you,” said the old woman address- 
ing the Earl of Glenallan, “ that I was the favourite and 
confidential attendant of Joscelind, Countess of Glenallan, 
whom God assoilzie !” — (here she crossed herself) — 
“ and, I think farther, ye may not have forgotten, that I 
shared her regard for mony years. I returned it by the 
maist sincere attachment, but I fell into disgrace frae a 
trifling act of disobedience, reported to your mother by 
ane that thought, and she wasna wrang, that I was a spy 
upon her actions and yours.” 

“ I charge thee, woman,” said the Earl, in a voice trem- 
bling with passion, “ name not her name in my hearing !” 

“ I MUST,” returned the penitent firmly and calmly, 
“ or how can you understand me 

Tlie Earl leaned upon one of the wooden chairs of the 
but, drew his hat over his face, clenched his hands to- 
gether, set his teeth like one who summons up courage 
o undergo a painful operation, and made a signal to her 
to proceed. 

I say, then,” she resumed, that my disgrace with 
my mistress was chiefly owing to Miss Eveline Nevilb, 
then bred up in Glenallan-house as tbe daughter of a 
cousin-german and intimate friend of your father that was 
gane. 'There was muckle mystery in her history, but 




THE ANTKiUAKY. 


vvha dared to inquire farther than the Countess liked to 
tell 9 — All in Glenallan-house loved Miss Neville — all 
but twa — your mother and mysell — we baith hated her.” 

“ God ! for what reason, since a creature so mild, so 
gentle, so formed to inspire affection, never walked on 
this wretched world 9” 

“ It may hae been sae,” rejoined Elspeth, “ but your 
mother hated a’ that cam of your father’s family — a’ but 
birnsell. Her reasons related to strife which fell between 
them soon after her marrigge ; the particulars are nae- 
thing to this purpose. But, O, doubly did she hate Ev- 
eline Neville when she perceived that there was a grow- 
ing kindness atween you and that unfortunate young 
leddy ! Ye may mind that the Countess’s dislike didna 
gang farther at first than just showing o’ the cauld shouth- 
er — at least it wasna seen farther : but at the lang run it 
brak out into such downright violence that Miss Neville 
was even fain to seek refuge at Knockwinnock castle 
with Sir Arthur’s leddy, wha (God sain her) was then wi’ 
the living.” 

“You rend my heart by recalling these particulars — 
but go on, and may my present agony be accepted as ad- 
ditional penance for the involuntary crime !” 

“ She had been absent some months,” continued Els- 
peth, “ when I was ae night watching in my hut the return 
of my husband from fishing, and shedding in private those 
bitter tears that my proud spirit wrung frae me whenever 
I thought on my disgrace. The sneck was drawn, and 
the Countess, your mother, entered my dwelling. I 
thought I had seen a spectre, for, even in the height of 
my favour, this was an honour she had never done me, 
and she looked as pale and ghastly as if she had risen 
from the grave. She sat down and wrung the draps from 
her hair and cloak, for the night was drizzling, and her 
walk had been through the plantations, that were a’ loaded 
with dew. I only mention these things that you may un- 
derstand how weel that night lives in my memory, and 
weel it may. I was surprised to see her, but I durstna 
speak first, mair than if I had seen a phantom — Na., 1 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


113 


durst not, my lord, I that hae seen mony sights of terror 
and never shook at them — Sae, after a silence, she said, 
‘ Elspeth Cheyne, (for she always gave me my maiden 
name,) are not ye the daughter of that Reginald Cheyne, 
who died to save his master, Lord Glenallan, on the field 
of SlierifTmuir V And I answered her as proudly as her- 
sell nearly — ‘ As sure as you are the daughter of that 
Earl of Glenallan whom my father saved that day by his 
own death.’ ” 

Here she made a deep pause. 

‘‘ And what followed 9 — what followed 9 — For heav- 
en’s sake, good woman — But why should I use that word 9 
— Yet, good or bad, I command you to tell me.” 

“ And little 1 should value earthly command,” answer- 
ed Elspeth, “ were there not a voice that has spoken to 
me sleeping and waking, that drives me forward to tell 
this sad tale. — Aweel, my lord — the Countess said to me, 
‘ My son loves Eveline Neville — they are agreed — they 
are plighted ; — should they have a son, my right over 
Glenallan merges — I sink, from that moment, from a 
Countess into a miserable stipendiary ‘dowager — I, who 
brought lands and vassals, and high blood and ancient 
fame, to my husband, I must cease to be mistress when 
my son has an heir-male. But I care not for that — had 
he married any but one of the hated Nevilles I had been 
patient — But for them — that they and their descendants 
should enjoy the rights and honours of my ancestors, goes 
through my heart like a two-edged dirk. And this girl 
— I detest her !’ — And I answered, for my heart kindled 
at her words, that her hate was equalled by mine.” 

‘‘ Wretch !” exclaimed the Earl, in spite of his deter- 
mination to preserve silence, — “ Wretched woman ! what 
cause of hate could have arisen from a being so innocent 
and gentle 9” 

“ 1 hated what my mistress hated, as was the use with 
the liege vassals of the house of Glenallan ; for though, 
my lord, I married under my degree, yet an ancestor of 
yours never went to the field of battle, but an ancestor of 

VOL. II. 


THE ANTIQ^UAIIY. 


I 14 

the frail, demented, auld, useless wretch wha now S| eaks 
with you, carried his shield before him. — But that was 
not a’,’’ continued the beldame, her earthly and evil pa-^- 
sions rekindling as she became healed in her narration . 
“ that was not a’ — I hated Miss Eveline Neville for her 
ain sake — I brought her frae England, and, during our 
whole journey, she gecked and scorned at my northern 
speech and habit, as her southland leddies and kinnneis 
had done at the boarding-school as they ca’d it, (and, 
strange as it may seem, she spoke of an affront offered by 
a heedless school-girl without intention, with a degree of 
inveteracy, which, at such a distance of time, a mortal 
offence would neither have authorized or excited in any 
well-constituted mind) — Yes, she scorned and jested at 
me — but let them that scorn the tartan fear the dirk !” 

She paused, and then went on. “ But I deny not that 
I hated her mair than she deserved. My mistress, the 
Countess, persevered and said, ‘ Elspeth Cheyne, this 
unruly boy will marry with the false English blood — were 
days as they have been, I could throw her into the Mas- 
symore^at Glenallan, and fetter him in the Keep of Strath- 
bonnel — But these times are past, and the authority which 
the nobles of the land should exercise is delegated to 
quibbling lawyers and their baser dependants. Hear me, 
Elspeth Cheyne ! if you are your, father’s daughter as I 
am mine, 1 will find means that they shall not marry — 
She walks often to that cliff that overhangs your dwelling 
to look for her lover’s boat, (ye may remember the pleas- 
ure ye then took on the sea, my lord) — let him find her 
forty fathom lower than he expects !’ — Yes ! — ye may 
stare and frown and clench your hand, but, as sure as I 
am to face the only Being 1 ever feared, — and O that [ 
liad feared him mair ! — these were your mother’s wwds 
— what avails it to me to lie to you 9 — But I wadna con- 
sent to stain my hand with blood. Then she said, ‘ By 
the religion of our holy Church they are ow'er sibh the- 
gither. But I expect nothing but that both will become 
heretics as wtII as disobedient reprobates,’ that was her 
addition to that argument — And then, as the fiend is ever 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


115 


ower busy wi’ brains like mine, that are subtle beyond 
their use and station, I was unhappily permitted to add 
— ‘ But they might be brought to think themselves sae 
sihh as no Christian law will permit their wedlock.’ ” 
Here the Earl of Glenallan echoed her words with a 
shriek so piercing, as almost to rend the roof of the cot- 
tage — ‘‘ Ah ! then Eveline Neville was not the — the” 

“ The daughter, ye would say, of your father '?•” 
continued Elspeth ; “ No — be it a torment or be it a 
comfort to you — ken the truth, she was nae mair a daugh- 
ter of your faljier’s house than lam.” 

“ Woman, deceive me not — make me not curse the 
memory of the parent I have so lately laid in the grave, 
for sharing in a plot the most cruel, the most infernal” — 
“ Bethink ye, my Lord Geraldin, ere yQ curse the 
memory of a parent that’s gane, is there none of the 
blood of Glenallan living, whose faults have led to this 
dreadfu’ catastrophe 

“ Mean you my brother — he, too, is gone,” said the 
Earl. 

“ No,” replied the sibyl, “ I mean yoursell, Lord 
Geraldin. Had you not transgressed the obedience of a 
son by wedding Eveline Neville in secret while a guest 
at Knockwinnock, our plot might have separated you for 
a time, but would have left at least your sorrows without 
remorse to canker them — But your ain conduct had put 
poison in the weapon that we threw, and it pierced you 
with the mair force, because ye cam rushing to meet it. 
Had your marriage been a proclaimed and acknowledg- 
ed action, our stratagem to throw an obstacle into your 
way that couldna be got ower, neithe«^wad nor could hae 
been practised against ye.” 

“ Great Heaven !” said the unfortunate noblr man ; 
“ it is as if a film fell from my obscured eyes ! — Yes, I 
now well understand the doubtful hints of consolation 
thrown out by my wretched mother, tending indirectly to 
impeach the evidence of the horrors of which her arts 
had led me to believe myself guilty.” 


116 


THE ANTKtUAllY. 


“ She could not speak mair plainly,” answered Elspelh 
“ without confessing her ain fraud, and she would have 
submitted to be torn by wild horses, rather than unfold 
what she had done ; and, if she had still lived, so would 1 
for her sake. They were stout hearts the race of Glenal- 
lan, male and female, and sae were a’ that in auld times 
cried their gathering-word of Clochnaben — they stood 
shouther to shouther — Nae man parted frae his chief for 
love of gold or of gain, or of right or of wrang. The 
times are changed, 1 hear, now.” 

The unfortunate nobleman was too much wrapped up 
in his own confused and distracting reflections to notice 
the rude expressions of savage fidelity, in which, even 
in the latest ebb of life, the unhappy author of his mis- 
fortunes seemed to find a stern and stubborn source of 
consolation. 

“ Great Heaven !” he exclaimed, “ I am then free 
from a guilt the most horrible with which man can be 
stained, and the sense of which, however involuntary, 
has wrecked my peace, destroyed my health, and bowed 
me down to an untimely grave. Accept,” he fervently 
uttered, lifting his eyes upwards, “ accept my humble 
thanks ! — If I live miserable, at least I shall not die 
stained with that unnatural guilt ! — And thou — proceed 
if thou hast more to tell — proceed while thou hast voice 
to speak it, and I have powers to listen.” 

“ Yes,” answered the beldame, “ the hour when you 
shall hear, and I shall speak, is indeed passing rapidly 
away — Death has crossed your brow with his finger, and 
I find his grasp turning every day caulder at my heart. 
Interrupt me nae m^ir with exclamations and groans and 
accusations, but hear my tale to amend ! And then — il 
ye be indeed sic a Lord of Glenallan as I hae heard of 
in my day — make your merrymen gather the thorn, and 
the briar, and the green hollin, till they heap them as 
high as the house-riggin’, and burn ! burn ! burn ! the 
auld witch Elspelh, and a’ that can put ye in mind that 
sic a creature ever crawled upon the land !” 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


117 


^ Go on,” said the Earl, “ go on — I will not again in- 
» nipt you.” 

de spoke in a half- suffocated yet determined voice, 
resolved that no irritability on his part should deprive him 
of this opportunity of acquiring proofs of the wonderful 
tale he then heard. But Elspeth had become exhausted 
by a continuous narration of such unusual length ; the 
mbsequent part of her story was more broken, and, though 
still distinctly intelligible in most parts, had no longer the 
lucid conciseness which the first part of her narrative had 
displayed to such an astonishing degree. Lord Glenallan 
found it necessary, when she had made some attempts to 
continue her narrative without success, to prompt her 
memory, by demanding what proofs she could propose to 
bring of the truth of a narrative so different from that 
which she had originally told 9 

“ The evidence,” she replied, “ of Eveline Neville’s 
real birth was in the Countess’s possession, with reasons 
for its being, for some time, kept private. They may 
yet be found, if she has not destroyed them, in the left- 
hand drawer of the ebony cabinet that stood in the dress- 
ing-room — these she me'tint to suppress for the time until 
you went abroad again, when she trusted, before your 
return, to send Miss Neville back to her ain country, or 
to get her settled in marriage.” 

“ But did you not show me letters of my father’s, which 
seemed to me, unless my senses altogether failed me in 
that horrible moment, to avow his relationship to — to the 
unhappy” 

“We did ; and, with my testimony, how could you 
doubt the fact, or her either — But we suppressed the 
true explanation of these letters, and that was, that your 
father thought it right the young leddy should pass for 
his daughter for a while, on account o’ some family rea- 
sons that were amang them.” 

But wherefore, when you learned our union, was this 
dreadful artifice persisted in 9” 

“ It \vasna,” she replied, “ till Lady Glenallan had 
communicated this fause tale that she suspected ye had 


118 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


actually made a marriage — nor even then did you av’^ow 
it sae as to satisfy her, whether the ceremony had in 
verity passed atween ye or no — but ye remember, O ye 
canna but remember weel, what passed in that awfu’ 
meeting !” 

“ Woman ! you swore upon the gospels to the fact 
wdhch you now disavow.” 

I did, and I wad hae ta’en a yet mair holy pledge 
on it, if there had been ane — I wad not hae spared the 
blood of my body, or the guilt of my soul, to serve the 
house of Glenallan.” 

“ Wretch ! do you call that horrid perjury, attended 
with consequences yet more dreadful — do you esteem 
that a service to the house of your benefactors 9” 

“ 1 served her, wha was then the head of Glenallan, 
as she required me to serve her. The cause was between 
God and her conscience — the manner between God and 
mine — She is gane to her account, and I maun follow — 
Have I tauld you a’ 9” 

“ No,” answered Lord Glenallan ; ‘‘ you have yet 
more to tell — you have to tell me of the death of the 
angel whom your perjury drove to despair, stained, as 
she thought herself, with a crime so horrible — Speak 
truth — was that dreadful — was that horrible incident” — 
he could scarcely articulate the words — “ was it as 
reported ^ or was it an act of yet further, though not 
more atrocious cruelty, inflicted by others 9” 

‘‘ I understand you,” said Elspeth ; “ but report spoke 
truth — our false witness was indeed the cause, but the 
deed was her ain distracted act — On that fearfu’ disclo- 
sure, when ye rushed frae the Countess’s presence, and 
saddled your horse, and left the castle like a fire-flaiight, 
the Countess hadna yet discovered your private mar- 
riage ; she hadna fund out that the union, which she had 
framed this awfu’ tale to prevent, had e’en ta’en place 
\ e fled frae the house as if the fire o’ Heaven was abof^i 
to fa’ upon it, and Miss Neville, atween reason and the 
want o’t, was put under sure ward. But the ward slecp’t, 
and the prisoner waked — the window was open — the way 


THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


119 


was before her — there was tlic cliff, and there was the sea ! 

— O, when will I forget that f-’’ 

“ And thus died,” said the Earl, “ even so as was re- 
ported V 

“ No, my lord. I had gane out to the cove — the tide 
was in, and it flowed, as ye’ll remember, to the fof)t of 
tliat cliff — it was a great convenience that for my hus- 
band’s trade — Where am I wandering 9 — I saw a white 
object dart frae the tap o’ the cliff like a sea-maw through 
the mist, and then a heavy flash and sparkle of the 
waters snowed me it was a human creature that had fa’en 
into the waves. I was bold and strong, and familiar with 
the tide. I rushed in and grasped her gown, and drew 
her out and carried her on my shouthers — 1 could hae 
carried twa sic then — carried her to my hut, and laid 
her on my bed. Neighbours cam and brought help — but 
the words she uttered in her ravings, when she got back 
the use of speech, were such, that I was fain to send them 
awa, and get up word to Glenallan-house. The Count- 
ess sent down her Spanish servant Teresa — if ever there 
w<is a fiend on earth in human form, that woman was ane 
— She and I were to watch the unhappy leddy, and let 
no other person approach. God knows what Teresa’s 
part was to hae been — she tauld it not to me — but Hea- 
ven took the conclusion in its ain hand. The poor led- 
dy ! she took the pangs of travail before her time, bore 
a male child, and died in the arms of me — of her mortal 
enemy ! Ay, ye may weep — she was a sightly creature 
to see to — but think ye, if I didna mourn her then, that 
I can mourn her now 9 — Na, na ! — I left Teresa wi’ the 
dead corpse and new-born babe, till I gaed up to lake 
the Countess’s commands what was to be done. Late 
as it was, I ca’d her up, and she gar’d me ca’ up your 
brother” 

“ My brother 9” 

“ Yes, Lord Geraldin, e’en your brother, that some 
said she aye wished to be her heir. At ony rale, he was 
the person maist concerned in the succession and herii- 
ance of the house of Glenallan.” 


120 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


“ And is it possible to believe, then, that my brother 
out of avarice to grasp at my inheritance, would lend 
himself to such a base and dreadful stratagem 9” 

“ Your mother believed it,” said the old beldame with 
a fiendish laugh — “ it was nae plot of my making — but 
what they did or said I will not say, because I did noi 
near. Lang and sair they consulted in the black wain- 
scot dressing-room ; and when your brother passed 
through the room where I was waiting, it seemed to me 
(and 1 have often thought sae since syne) that the fire of 
hell was in his cheek and een. But he had left some of 
it with his mother at ony rate. She entered the room 
like a woman demented, and the first words she spoke 
were, ‘ Elspeth Cheyne, did ye ever pull a new-budded 
flower V 1 answered, as ye may believe, that I often had ; 
‘ then,’ said she, ‘ ye will ken the better how to blight 
the spurious and heretical blossom that ligs sprung forth 
this night to disgrace my father’s noble house — See here 
— (and she gave me a golden bodkin) — ‘ nothing but 
gold must shed the blood of Glenallan. This child is al- 
ready as one of the dead, and since thou and Teresa 
alone ken that it lives, let it be dealt upon as ye will an- 
swer to me !’ and she turned away in her fury, and left 
me witli the bodkin in my hand. Here it is ; that and 
‘he ring of Miss Neville are a’ I hae preserved of my 
ill-gotten gear — for muckle was the gear 1 got. And 
weel hae I keepit the secret, but no for the gowd or gear 
either.” 

Her long and bony hand held out to Lord Glenallan 
a gold bodkin, down which in fancy he saw the blood 
of his infant trickling. 

“ Wretch ! had you the heart 9” 

“ I kenna if 1 could hae had it or no. I returned to 
my cottage without feeling the ground, that I trod on ; but 
Teresa and the child were gane — a’ that was alive was 
gane — naething left but the lifeless corpse.” 

“ And did you never learn my infant’s fate 9” 

“ I could but guess. I have tauld ye your mother’s 
purpose, and I ken Teresa was a fiend. She was never 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


121 


mair seen in Scotland, and I have heard that she returned 
to her ain land. A dark curtain has fa’en ower the past, 
and the few that witnessed ony part of it could only sur^ 
mise something of seduction and suicide. You your- 
self” — 

“ I know — I know it all,” answered the Earl. 

“ You indeed know all that I can say — And now, heir 
of Glenallan, can you forgive me 9” 

‘‘ Ask forgiveness of God, and not of man,” said the 
Earl, turning away. 

“ And how shall I ask of the pure and unstained what 
is denied to me by a sinner like mysell 9 — If I hae sin- 
ned, hae I not suffered 9 — Hae I had a day’s peace or an 
hour’s rest since these lang wet locks of hair first lay upon 
my pillow at Craigburnfoot 9 — has not my house been 
burned, wi’ my bairn in the cradle 9 — Have not my boats 
been wrecked "when a’ others weathered the gale 9— Have 
not a’ that w’ere near and dear to me dree’d penance for 
my sin 9 — Has not the fire had its share o’ them — the 
winds had their part-— the sea had her part 9 — And oh !” 
(she added, with a lengthened groan, looking first upwards 
towards Heaven, and then bending her eyes on the floor) 
— “ Oh ! that the earth would take her part, that’s been 
lang lang wearying to be joined to it !” 

Lord Glenallan had reached the door of the cottage, 
but the generosity of his nature did not permit him to leave 
the unhappy woman in this state of desperate reprobation. 
“ May God forgive thee, wretched woman,” he said, “ as 
sincerely as I do ! — turn for mercy to Him, who can 
alone grant mercy, and may your prayers be heard as if 
they were mine own ! — I will send a religious man ” 

“ Na, na, nae priest ! nae priest !” she ejaculated ; 
and the door of the cottage opening as she spoke, pre- 
vented her from proceeding. 


VOL. II. 


122 


THE ANTIQ,UATIT* 


CHAPTER Xlll. 


Still in his dead hand clench’d remain ihe strings 
That thrill his father’s heart— e’en as the limb, 

Lopp.’d off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, 

Strange commerce with the mutilated stump. 

Whose nerves are twinging still in maim’d existence. 

Old PUy. 

The Antiquary, as we informed the reader in the end of 
the tenth chapter, had shaken off the company of wor- 
thy Mr.Blattergowl, although he offered to entertain him 
with an abstract of the ablest speech he had ever known 
in the teind court, delivered by the procurator for the 
church in the remarkable case of the parish of Gatherem. 
Resisting this temptation, our senior preferred a solitary 
path, which again conducted him to the cottage of Muck- 
lebackit. When he came in front of the fisherman’s hut 
he observed a man working intently, as if to repair a 
shattered boat which lay upon the beach, and, going up 
to him, was surprised to find it was Mucklebackit himself. 
“ I am glad,” he said, in a tone of sympathy — “ I am 
glad, Saunders, that you feel yourself able to make thk 
exertion.” 

“ And what would ye have me to do,” answered the fish- 
er gruffly, “ unless 1 wanted to see four children starve, 
because ane is drowned 9 It’s weel wi’ you gentles, that 
can sit in the house wi’ handkerchers at your een when 
ye lose a friend ; but the like o’ us maun to our wark 
again, if our hearts were beating as hard as my hammer.” 

Without taking more notice of Oldbuck he proceeded 
in his labour ; and the Antiquary, to whom the display of 
human nature under the influence of agitating passions 
was never indifferent, stood beside him, in silent attention, 
as ii watching the progress of the work. He observed 
more than once the man’s hard features, as if by the 


THE ANTIQ,UAUY. 


123 


force of association, prepare to accompany the sound of 
the saw and hammer with his usual symnhony of a rude 
tune hummed or whistled, and as often a slight twitch of 
convulsive expression showed that, ere the sound was 
uttered, a cause for suppressing it rushed upon his mind. 
At length, when he had patched a considerable rent, and 
was beginning to mend another, his feelings appeared 
altogether to derange the power of attention necessary 
for his work. The piece of wood which he was about 
to nail on was at first too long ; then he sawed it off too 
short tlien chose another equally ill adapted for the pur- 
pose. At length, throwing it down in anger, after wiping 
his dim eye with his quivering hand, he exclaimed, 
“ There is a curse either on me or on this auld black 
bitch of a boat, that I have hauled up high and dry, and 
patched and clouted sae mony years, that she might drown 
my poor Steenie at the end of them, an’ be d — d to her !” 
and he flung his hammer against the boat, as if she had 
been the intentional cause of his misfortune. Then 
recollecting himself, he added, “ Yet what needs ane be 
angry at her, that has neither soul nor sense 9 — though 
I am no that muckle better mysell. She’s but a riclile 
o’ auld rotten deals nailed thegither, and warped wi’ the 
wind and the sea — and I am a dour carle, battered by 
foul weather at sea and land till I am maist as senseless 
as hersell. She maun be mended though again the morn- 
ing tide — that’s a thing o’ necessity.” 

Thus speaking, he went to gather together his instru- 
ments and attempt to resume his labour, but Oldbuck 
took him kindly by the arm. “ Come, come,” he said, 
“ Saunders, there is no work for you this day — I’ll send 
down Shavings the carpenter to mend the boat, and he 
may put the day’s work into my account — and you had 
6etter not come out to-morrow, but stay to comfort your 
family under this dispensation, and the gardener will biing 
you some vegetables and meal from iMonkbarns.” 

“ I thank ye, iMonkbarns,” answered the j)oor fisher ; 
‘ I am a plain-spoken man, and hae little to say for my- 
sell ; I might hae learned fairer fashions frae my rnuhei 


124 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


lang syne, but 1 never saw muckle glide they did her 
however, 1 thank ye. Ye were aye kind and neighbour 
ly, whatever folk says o’ your being near and close ; and 
1 hae often said in thae times when they were ganging tc 
raise up the puir folk against the gentles — I hae often said, 
ne’er a man should steer a hair touching to Monkbarns 
while Steenie and I could wag a finger — and so said 
Steenie too. And, Monkbarns, when ye laid his head in 
the grave, (and mony thanks for the respect,) ye saw the 
mouls laid on an honest lad that likit you weel, though 
he made little phrase about it.” 

Oldbuck, beaten from the pride of his affected cynic- 
ism, would not willingly have had any one by upon that 
occasion to quote to him his favourite maxims of the Stoic 
philosophy. The large drops fell fast from his own eyes, 
as he begged the father, who was now melted at recollect- 
ing the bravery and generous sentiments of his son, to 
forbear useless sorrow, and led him by the arm towards 
his own home, where another scene awaited our Anti- 
quary. As he entered, the first person whom he beheld 
was Lord Glenallan. 

Mutual surprise was in their countenances as they salut- 
ed each other, with haughty reserve on the part of Mr. 
Oldbuck, and embarrassment on that of the Earl. 

“ My Lord Glenallan, I think said Mr. Oldbuck. 

“ Yes — much changed from what he was when he 
knew Mr. Oldbuck.” 

“ I do not mean,” said the Antiquary, “ to intrude upon 
your lordship — I only came to see this distressed family.’' 

“ And you have found one, sir, who has still greater 
claims on your compassion.” 

“ My compassion 9 Lord Glenallan cannot need my 
compassion — if Lord Glenalian could need it, I think he 
would hardly ask it.” 

“ Our former acquaintance,” said the Earl 

“ Is of such ancient date, my Lord — was of such short 
duration, and was connected with circumstances so ex- 
quisitely painful, that [ think we may dispense with re- 
newing it.” 


THE ANT1Q,UAIIY. 


125 


So saying, the Antiquary turned away, and left the 
hut ; but Lord Glenallan followed him into the open air, 
and, in spite of a hasty “ Good morning, my lord,” re- 
quested a few minutes conversation, and the favour of his 
advice in an important matter. 

“ Your lordship will find many more capable to advise 
you, my lord, and by whom your intercourse will be 
deemed an honour. For me, I am a man retired from 
business and the w'orld, and not very fond of raking up 
the past events of my useless life ; and forgive me if I 
say, I have particular pain in reverting to that period of 

it when I acted like a fool, and your lordship like” 

He stopped short. 

“ Like a villain, you would say,” said Lord Glenallan, 
‘‘ for such I must have appeared to you.” 

“ My lord — my lord, I have no desire to hear your 
slirift,” said the Antiquary. 

“ But, sir, if I can show you that I am more sinned 
against than sinning — that I have been a man miserable 
beyond the power of description, and who looks forward 
at this moment to an untimely grave as to a haven of 
rest, you will not refuse the confidence which, accepting 
your appearance at this critical moment as a hint from 
Heaven, I venture thus to press on you.” 

“ Assuredly, my lord, I shall shun no longer the con- 
tinuation of this extraordinary interview.” 

“ I must then recall to you our occasional meetings 
upwards of twenty years since at Knockwinnock castle, 
and I need not remind you of a lady who was then a 
member of that family.” 

“ The unfortunate Miss Eveline Neville, my lord — I 
remember it well.” 

“ Towards whom you entertained sentiments”- 

a Very different from those with which I before and 
since have regarded her sex ; her gentleness, her docility, 
her pleasure in the studies which I pointed out to her, 
attached my affections more than became my age, (though 
that was not then much advanced,) or the soiidhy of my 

VOL. II. 


12G 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


character. But I need not remind your lordship of the 
various modes in which you indulged your gaiety at the 
expense of an awkward and retired student, embarrassed 
by the expression of feelings so new to him, and 1 have 
no doubt that the young lady joined you in the well-de- 
served ridicule — It is the way of womankind. I have 
spoken at once to the painful circumstances of my ad- 
dresses and their rejection that your lordship may be 
satisfied every thing is full in my memory, and may, so 
far'as I am concerned, tell your story without scruple or 
needless delicacy.” 

“ 1 will,” said Lord Glenallan ; ‘‘ but first let me say, 
you do injustice to the memory of the gentlest and kind- 
est, as well as to the most unhappy of women, to suppose 
she could make a jest of the honest affection of a man 
like you. Frequently did she blame me, Mr. Oldbuck, 
for indulging my levity at your expense — may I now 
presume you will excuse the gay freedoms which then 
offended you 9 — my state of mind has never since laid 
me under the necessity of apologizing for the inadverten- 
cies of a light and happy temper.” 

“ My Lord, you are fully pardoned,” said Mr. Old- 
buck. “You sliould be aware, that, like all others, I was 
ignorant at the time that 1 placed myself in competition 
with your lordship, and understood that Miss Neville was 
in a state of dependence which might make her prefer a 
competent independence and the hand of an honest man 
— But I am wasting time — I would 1 could believe that 
the views entertained towards her by others were as fair 
and honest as mine !” 

Mr. Oldbuck, you judge harshly.” 

“ Not without cause, my lord. When I only, of all 
the magistrates of this county, having neither, like some 
of them, the honour to be connected with your powerful 
family, nor, like others, the meanness to fear it — when I 
made some inquiry into the manner of Miss Neville’s 
death — I shake you, my lord, but I must be plain — I do 
own I had every reason to 'believe that she had met most 
unfair dealing, and had either been imposed upon by a 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


127 


counterfeit marriage, or that very strong measures had 
been adopted to stifle and destroy the evidence of a real 
union. And I cannot doubt in my own mind, that this 
cruelty on your lordship’s part, whether coming of your 
own free will, or proceeding from the influence of the 
late Countess, hurried the unfortunate young lady to the 
desperate act by which her life was terminated.” 

“ You are deceived, Mr. Oldbuck, into conclusions 
which are not just, however naturally they flow from the 
circumstances. Believe me, I respected you even when 
I was most embarrassed by your active attempts to in- 
vestigate our family misfortunes. You showed yourself 
more worthy of Miss Neville than I, by the spirit with 
which you persisted in vindicating her reputation ^ even 
after her death. But the firm belief, that your well-meant 
efforts could only serve to bring to light ar story too hor- 
rible to be detailed, induced me to join my unhappy 
mother in schemes to remove or destroy all evidence of 
the legal union which had taken place between Eveline 
and myself. And now let us sit down on this bank, for 1 
feel unable to remain longer standing, and have the 
goodness to listen to the extraordinary discovery which I 
have this day made.” 

They sat down accordingly, and Lord Glenallan briefly 
narrated his unhappy family history — his concealed mar- 
riage — the horrible invention by which his mother had 
designed to render impossible that union which had al- 
ready taken place. He detailed the arts by which the 
Countess, having all the documents relative to Miss Nev- 
ille’s birth in her hands, had produced those only relating 
to a period during which, for family- reasons, his father 
had consented to own that young lady as his natural 
daughter, and showed how impossible it was that he could 
either suspect or detect the fraud put upon him by his 
mother, and vouched by the oaths of her attendants, 
Teresa and Elspeth. “ I left my paternal mansion,” 
he concluded, ‘‘ as if the furies of hell had driven me 
forth, and travelled with frantic velocity I knew not 
whither. Nor have I the slightest recollection of what I 


128 


THE AiNTKiUARY 


did or whither I went, until 1 w'as discovered by my broth- 
er. I will not trouble you with an account of my sick- 
bed and recovery, or bow, long afterwards, 1 ventured tc 
inquire after the sharer of my misfortunes, and heard that 
her despair had found a dreadful remedy for all the ills 
of life. The first thing that roused me to thought w'as 
hearing of your inquiries into this cruel business ; and you 
will hardly wonder, that, believing what I did believe, i 
should join in those expedients to stop your investigation, 
which my brother and mother had actively commenced. 
The information which 1 gave them concerning the cir- 
cumstances and witnesses of our private marriage enabled 
them to baffle your zeal. The clergyman, therefore, and 
witnesses, as persons who had acted in the matter only to 
please the powerful heir of Glenallan, were accessible to 
his promises and threats, and were so provided for, that 
they had no objections to leave this country for another. 
For myself, Mr. Oldbuck,'’ pursued this unhappy man, 
“ from that moment I considered myself as blotted out of 
the book of the living, and as having nothing left to do 
with this world. My mother tried to reconcile me to life 
by every art — even by intimations which I can now in- 
terpret as calculated to produce a doubt of the horrible 
tale she herself had fabricated. But I construed all she 
said as the fictions of maternal afFecticfn. — I will forbear all 
reproach — she is no more — and, as her wretched as- 
sociate said, she knew not how the dart was poisoned, or 
how" deep it must sink, when she threw it from her hand. 
But, Mr. Oldbuck, if ever, during these twenty years, 
there crawled upon earth a living being deserving of your 
pity, I have been that man. My food has not nourished 
me — my sleep has not refreshed me — my devotions have 
not comforted me — all that is cheering and necessary to 
man has been to me converted into poison. The rare 
and limited intercourse which I have held with others 
has been most odious to me. I felt as if I were bringing 
the contamination of unnatural and inexpressible guilt 
among the gay and the innocent. There have been riiO' 
ments when I had thoughts of another description — to 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


129 


plunge into the adventures of war, or to brave the dangers 
of the traveller in foreign and barbarous climates — to 
mingle in political intrigue, or to retire to tlie stern seclu- 
sion of the anchorites of our religion — All tnese are 
thoughts which have alternately passed through my minif 
but each required an energy, which was mine no longer 
after the withering stroke I had received. I vegetated 
on as I could in the same spot, — fancy, feeling, judgment, 
and health, gradually decaying, like a tree whose bark 
has been destroyed, — when first the blossoms fade, then 
the boughs, until its state resembles the decayed and dy- 
ing trunk that is now before you. Do you now pity and 
forgive me 

“ My lord,” answered the Antiquary, much affected, 
“ my pity — my forgiveness, you have not to ask, for your 
dismal story is of itself not only an ample excuse for 
whatever appeared mysterious in your conduct, but a 
narrative that might move your worst enemies (and I, my 
lord, was never of the number) to tears and to sympathy. 
But permit me to ask what you now mean to do, and why 
you have honoured me, whose opinion can be of little 
consequence, with your confidence on this occasion 

“ Mr. Olnbuck,” answered the Earl, “ as 1 could never 
have foreseen the nature of that confession which I have 
heard this day, I need not say, that 1 had no formed plan 
of consulting you or any one upon affairs, the tendency 
of which I could not even have suspected. But I am 
without friends, unused to business, and, by long retire- 
ment, unacquainted alike with the laws of the land and 
the habits of the living generation ; and when, most 
unexpectedly, 1 find myself immersed in the matters ol 
which 1 know least, I catch, like a drowning man, at the 
first support that offers. You are that support, Mr 
Oldbuck. I have always heard you mentioned as a 
man of wisdom and intelligence — I have known you my- 
self as a man of a resolute and independent spirit — anti 
there is one circumstance,” said he, “ which ought to 
combine us in some degree — our having ])aid tribute to 
the same excellence of character in poor Eveline. Yt»u 


130 


THE A1STIQ,UARY. 


olTcred yourself to me in my need, and you were already 
acquainted with the beginning of my misfortunes. To 
you, therefore, I have recourse for advice, for sympathy, 
for support.” 

“ You shall seek none of them in vain, my lord,” said 
Oldbuck, “ so far as my slender ability extends ; and 1 am 
honoured by the preference, whether it arises from choice 
or is prompted by chance. But this is a matter to be 
ripely considered. May I ask what are your principa‘ 
views at present 9” 

“ To ascertain the fate of my child,” said the Earl, 
“ be the consequences what they may, and to do justice 
to the honour of Eveline, which I have only permitted 
to be suspected to avoid discovery of the yet more hor- 
rible taint to which I was made to believe it liable.” 

“ And the memory of your mother 9” 

“ Must bear its own burden,” answered the Earl with 
11 sigh ; better that she were justly convicted of deceit, 
.should that be found necessary, than that others' should 
])e unjustly accused of crimes so much more dreadful.” 

“ Then, my lord,” said Oldbuck, “ our first business 
must be to put the information of the old woman, Elspeth. 
into a regular and authenticated form.” 

“ That,” said Lord Glenallan, “ will be at present, 1 
fear, impossible — She is exhausted herself, and surround- 
ed by her distressed family. To-morrow, perhaps, when 
she is alone — and yet I doubt, from her imperfect sense 
of right and wrong, whether she would speak out in any 
one’s presence but my“ own — I too am sorely fatigued.” 

“ Then, my lord,” said the Antiquary, whom the in- 
terest of the moment elevated above points of expense 
and convenience, which had generally more than enough 
of weight with him, “ I would propose to your lordship, 
instead of returning, fatigued as you are, so far as to 
Glenallan-house, or taking the more uncomfortable alter- 
native of going to a bad inn at Fairport, to alarm all the 
busy bodies of the town — I would propose, I say, that 
you should be my guest at Monkbarns for this night — By 
to-morrow these poor people will have renewed their 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


131 


out-of-doors vocation, for sorrow with them affords no 
respite from labour, and we will visit the old woman^ 
Elspeth, alone, and take down her examination.” 

After a formal apology for the encroachment. Lord 
Glenallan agreed to go with him, and underwent with 
patience in their return home the whole history of John of 
the Girnell, a legend which Mr. Oldbuck was never known 
to spare any one who crossed his threshold. 

The arrival of a stranger of such note, with two saddle 
horses and a servant in black, which servant had holsters 
on his saddle bow, and a coronet upon the holsters, crea- 
ted a general commotion in the house of Monkbarns. 
Jenny Rintherout, scarce recovered from the hysterics 
which she had taken on hearing of poor Steenie’s mis- 
fortune, chased about the turkeys and poultry, cackled 
and screamed louder than they did, and ended by killing 
one half too many. Miss Griselda made many wise re- 
flections on the hot-headed wilfulness of her brother, who 
had occasioned such a devastation, by suddenly bringing 
in upon them a papist nobleman. And she ventured to 
transmit to Mr. Blattergowl some hint of the unusual 
slaughter which had taken place in the hasse-cour, which 
brouglit the honest clergyman to inquire how his friend 
Monkbarns had got home, and whether he was not the 
worse of being at the funeral, at a period so near the 
ringing of the bell for dinner, that the Antiquary had no 
choice left but to invite him to stay and bless the meat. 
M iss M’Intyre had pn her part some curiosity to see this 
mighty peer of whom all had heard, as an eastern caliph 
or sultan is heard of by his subjects, and felt some degree 
of timidity at the idea of encountering a person of whose 
uns(5cial habits and stern manners so many stories were 
told, that her fear kept at least pace with her curiosity. 
The aged housekeeper was no less flustered and hurried 
in obeying the numerous and contradictory commands oi 
her mistress, concerning preserves, pastry, and fruit, the 
mode of marshalling and dishing the dinner, the necessity 
of not permitting the melted butter to run to oil, and the 
danger of allowing Juno. — who, though formerly banish* 
17 


132 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


ed from the parlour, failed not to maraud about the out-* 
settlements of the family, — to enter the kitchen. 

The only inmate of Monkbarns who remained entirely 
indifferent on this momentous occasion was Hector M’ln- 
tyre, wdio cared no more for an Earl than he did for a 
commoner, iAd who was only interested in the unexpect- 
ed visit, as it might afford some protection against his 
uncle’s displeasure, if he harboured any, for his not attend- 
ing the funeral, and still more against his satire upon the 
subject of his gallant but unsuccessful single combat with 
the phoca, or seal. 

To these, the inmates of his household, Oldbuck pre- 
sented the Earl of Glenallan, who underwent, with meek 
and subdued civility, the prosing speeches of the honest 
divine, and the lengthened apologies of Miss Griselda 
Oldbuck, which her brother in vain endeavoured to 
abridge. Before the dinner hour. Lord Glenallan re- 
quested permission to retire a while to his chamber. Mr. 
Oldbuck accompanied his guest to the Green Rooni, 
which had been hastily prepared for his reception. He 
looked around with an air of painful recollection. 

“ 1 think,” at length he observed, “ I think, Mr. Old- 
buck, that I have been in this apartment before.” 

“ Yes, my lord,” answered Oldbuck, “ upon occasion 
of an excursion hither from Knockwinnock — and since 
we are upon a subject so melancholy, you may perhaps 
remember whose taste supplied these lines from Chaucer, 
which now form the motto of the tapestry.” 

“ I guess,” said the Earl, “ though I cannot recollect 
^She excelled me indeed, in literary taste and informa- 
tion, as in every thing else ; and it is one of the mysteri- 
ous dispensations of Providence, Mr. Oldbuck, ilwt a 
creature so excellent in mind and body should have been 
cut off in so miserable a manner, merely from her having 
formed a fatal attachment to such a wretch as I am.” ^ 

Mr. Oldbuck did not attempt an answer to this burst of 
the grief which lay ever nearest to the heart of his guest; 
but, pressing Lord Glenallan’s hand with one of his own, 


THE ANTiqUARY. 


133 


and drawing the other across his shagg;y eyelashes, as if 
to brush away a mist that intercepted his sight, he left the 
Earl at liberty to arrange himself previous to din ler. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Life, with you, — 

Glows in the brain and dances in tlfe arteries ; 

'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff’d, 

That glads the heart and elevates the fancy : — 

Mine is the poor residuum of the cup, 

Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling. 

With its base dregs, the vessel that contains it. 

Old Play. 

“ Now only think what a man my brother is, Mr. Blat- 
tergowl, for a wise man and a learned, man, to bring this 
Yerl into our house without speaking a single word to a 
body ! — And there’s the distress of thae Mucklebackits 
— we canna get a fin o’ fish — and we hae nae time to 
send ower to Fairport for beef, and the mutton’s but new 
killed — and tha,t silly fliskmahoy, Jenny Rintherout, has 
ta’en the exies, and done naething but laugh and greet, 
the skirl at the tail o’ the gufia, for twa days successively 
— and now we maun ask that strange man, that’s as grand 
and grave as the Yerl himsell, to stand at the sideboard ! 
And I canna gang into the kitchen to direct ony thing, for 
he’s hovering there making some pousowdie^for my lord, 
for he doesna eat like ither folk neither — And how tO/ 
sort the strange servant man at dinner time — I am sure, 
Mr. Blattergowl, a’thegither, it passes my judgment.” 

“ Truly, Miss Griselda,” replied the divine, “ Monk- 
barns was inconsiderate. He should have ta’en a day to 
Gee the invitation, as they do wi’ the titular’s condescen- 
ilence in the process of valuation and sale. , But the 

VOL. II 


134 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


great man could not have come on a sudden to ony /louse 
in this parish where he could have been better served 
with vivers — that I must say — and also that the steam 
from the kitchen is very gratifying to my nostrils — and 
if ye have any household affairs to attend to, Mrs. Gris- 
clda, never make a stranger of me — I can amuse myself 
very weel with the larger copy of Erskine’s Institutes.” 

And taking down from the window seat that amusing 
folio, (the Scottish Coke upon Littleton,) he opened it, 
as if instinctively, at the tenth title of Book Second, of 
Teinds or Tythes,” and was presently deeply wrapped 
up in an abstruse discussion concerning the temporality 
of benefices. 

The entertainment, about which Miss Oldbuck ex- 
pressed so much anxiety, was at length placed upon the 
table ; and the Earl of Glenallan, for the first time since 
the date of his calamity, sat at a stranger’s board sur- 
rounded by strangers. He seemed to himself like a man 
in a dream, or one whose brain was not fully recovered 
from the effects of an intoxicating potion. Relieved, as 
he had that morning been, from the image of guilt which 
had so long haunted his imagination, he felt his sorrows 
as a lighter and more tolerable load, but was still unable 
to take any share in the conversation that passed around 
him. It was indeed of a cast very different from that 
which he had been accustomed to. The bluntness of 
Oldbuck, the tiresome apologetic harangues of his sister, 
the pedantry of the divine, and the vivacity of the young 
soldier, which.savoured much more of the camp than of 
the court, were all new to a nobleman who had lived in a 
retired and melancholy state for so many years, that the 
manners of the world seemed to him equally strange and 
unpleasing. Miss M’Intyre alone, from the natural polite- 
ness and unpretending simplicity of her manners, appear- 
ed to belong to that class of society to which he had been 
accustomed in his earlier and better days. 

Nor did Lord Glenallan’s deportment less surprise the 
company. Though a plain but excellent family-dinner 
was provided, (for, as Mr. Blattergowl had justly said 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


135 


it was impossible to surprise Miss Griselda when her 
larder was empty,) and though the Antiquary boasted his 
best port, and assimilated it to the Falernian of Horace, 
Lord Glenallan was proof to the allurements of both. His 
servant placed before him a small mess of vegetables, that 
very dish, the cooking of which had alarmed Miss Gris- 
elda, arranged with the most minute and scrupulous neat- 
ness. He eat sparingly of these provisions ; and a glass 
of pure water, sparkling from the fountain head, com- 
pleted his repast. Such, his servant said, had been his 
lordship’s diet for very many years, unless upon the high 
festivals of the Church, or when company of the first 
rank were entertained at Glenallan-house, when he re- 
laxed a little in the austerity of his diet, and permitted 
himself a glass or two of wine. But at Monkbarns, no 
anchoret conld have made a more simple and scanty meal. 

The Antiquary was a gentleman, as we have seen, in 
feeling, but blunt and careless in expression, from the 
habit of living with those before whom he had nothing to 
suppress. He attacked his noble guest without scruple 
on the severity of his regimen. 

“ A few half-cold greens and potatoes — a glass of ice- 
cold water to wash them down — antiquity gives no war- 
rant for it, my lord. This house used to be accounted a 
hospitium, a place of retreat for Christians ; but your lord- 
ship’s diet is that of a heathen Pythagorean, or Indian 
Bramin — nay, more severe than either, if you refuse these 
fine apples.” 

“ I am a Catholic, you are aware,” said Lord Glen- 
allan, wishing to escape from the discussion, “ and you 
know that our church” 

“ Lays down many rules of mortification,” proceeded 
the dauntless Antiquary ; “ but I never heard that they 
were quite so rigorously practised — Bear witness rny 
predecessor, John of the Girnell, or the jolly Abbot, who 
gave his name to this apple, my lord.” 

And as he pared the fruit, in spite of his sister’s “ O 
fie, Monkbarns,” and the prolonged cough of the minister, 
accompanied by a shake of his huge wig, the Antiquary 
proceeded to detail the intrigue which had given rise to 


136 


THE AXTiq,UARY. 


the fame of the abbot’s apple with more slyness and cir 
cumstantiality than was at all necessary. His jest (a& 
may readily be conceived) missed fire, for this anecdote 
of conventual gallantry failed to produce the slightest smile 
on the visage of the Ea^J. Old buck then took up the sub- 
ject of Ossian, Macpherson, and Mac-Cribb ; but Lord 
Glenallan had never so much as heard of any of the 
three, so little conversant had he been with modern litera- 
ture. The conversation was now in some danger of flag- 
ging, or of falling into the hands of Mr. Blattergovvl, who 
had just pronounced the formidable word, “ teind-free,” 
when tlie subject of the French Revolution was started ; 
a political event on which Lord Glenallan looked with all 
the prejudiced horror of a bigotted Catholic and zealous 
aristocrat. Oldbuck was far from carrying his detesta- 
tion of its principles to such a length. 

‘‘ There were many men in the first constituent assem- 
nly,” he said, “ who held sound w'higgish doctrines, and 
were for settling the constitution with a proper provision 
for the liberties of the people. And if a set of furious 
madmen were now in possession of the government, it was,” 
he continued, “ what often happened in great revolutions, 
where extreme measures are adopted in the fury of the mo- 
ment, and the state resembles an agitated pendulum which 
swings from side to side for some time ere it can acquire 
Its due and perpendicular station. Or it might be likened 
to a storm or hurricane, which, passing over a region 
does great damage in its passage, yet sweeps away stag- 
nant and unwholesome vapours, and repays, in future 
health and fertility, its immediate desolation and ravage.” 

The .Earl shook his head ; but having neither spirit 
nor inclination for debate, he suflered the argument to 
pass uncontested. 

This discussion served to introduce the young soldier’s 
experiences ; and he spoke of the actions in which he 
had been engaged with modesty, and, at the same time 
with an air of spirit and zeal which delighted tlie Earl, 
who had been bred up, like others of his house, in the 
opinion, that the trade of arms was the first duty of man, 


THE ANTIQ^UAIIY. 


137 


and believed that to employ them against the French, 
was a sort of lioly warfare. 

‘ What would I give,” said he apart to Oldbuck, as 
they rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room, “ what 
would 1 give to have a son of such spirit as that young 
gentleman ! — He wants something of address and man- 
ner, something of polish, which mixing in good society 
would soon give him — but with what zeal and animation 
he expresiies himself — how fond of his profession — how 
Olid in the praise of others — how modest when speaking 
of himself 

“ Hector is much obliged to you, my lord,” replied his 
uncle, gratified, yet not so much so as to suppress his con- 
sciousness of his own mental superiority over the young 
soldier ; “ I believe in my heart nobody ever spoke half sc 
much good of him before, except perhaps the sergeant 
of his company, when he was wheedling a Highland recruit 
to enlist with him. He is a good lad notwithstanding, al- 
though he be not quite the hero your lordship supposes him, 
and although my commendations rather attest the kind- 
ness, than the vivacity of his character. In fact, his 
high spirit is a sort of constitutional vehemence, which at- 
tends him in every thing he sets about, and is often very 
inconvenient to his friends. 1 saw him to-day engage in 
an animated contest with a phoca, or seal, (sealgh, our 
people more properly call them, retaining the Gothic gut- 
tural gh,) with as much vehemence as if he had fought 
against Dumourier — IMarry, my lord, the phoca had the 
better, as the said Dumourier had of some other folks. 
And he’ll talk with equal if not superior rapture of the 
good behaviour of a pointer bitch, as of the plan of a 
campaign.” 

“ He shall have full permission to sport over my grounds,’' 
said the Earl, “ if he is so fond of that exercise.” 

“ You will bind him to you, my lord,” said Monkbarns. 

body and soul ; give him leave to crack off his birding- 
piece at a poor covey of patridges or moor-fowl, and he’s 
yours for ever. 1 will enchant him by the intelligence. 
But O, my lord, that you could have seen my phoenix 
VOL. 11. 


138 


Till', AN I'KiL A !i Y. 


Lovel ! — the very prince and chieftain of v/ie youth o^ 
this age ; and not destitute of spirit neither — I promise 
you he gave my termagant kinsman a quid pro quo — a 
Rowland for his Oliver, as the vulgar say, alluding to the 
two celebrated Paladins of Charlemagne.” 

After coffee. Lord Glenallan requested a piivate inter- 
view with the Antiquary, and was ushered to his library. 

“ I must withdraw you from your own amiable family,” 
he said, “ to involve you in the perplexities of an unhappy 
man. You are acquainted with the world, from which 1 
have long been banished ; for Glenallan-house has been 
to me ratlier a prison tlian a dwelling, although a prison 
which 1 had neither fortitude nor spirit to break from.” 

“ Let me first ask your lordship,” said the Antiquary, 
‘‘ what are your own wishes and designs in this matter 

“ I wish most especially,” answered Lord Glenallan, 
“ to declare my luckless marriage, and to vindicate the 
reputation of the unhappy Eveline ; that is, if you see 
a possibility of doing so without making public the con- 
duct of my mother.” 

Suum cuique iribuito,'^ said the Antiquary, “ do 
right to every one. The memory of that unhappy young 
lady has too long sufl^ered, and I think it might be cleared 
without further impeaching that of your mother, than by 
letting it be understood in general that she greatly disap- 
proved and bitterly opposed the match. All — forgive me, 
my lord — all whoev^er heard of the late Countess of Glen- 
allan, will learn that without much surprise.” 

“ But you forget one horrible circumstance, Mr Old- 
buck,” said the Earl, in an agitated voice. 

“ J am not aware of it,” replied the Antiquary. 

“ The fate of the infant — its disappearance with the con- 
fidential attendant of my mother, and the dreadful surmises 
which may be drawn from my conversation with Elspeth.” 

“ If you would have my free opinion, my lord,” 
answered Mr. Oldbuck, “ and will not catch too rap- 
idly at it as matter of hope, I would say, that it is very 
possible the child yet lives. For thus much I ascer- 
tained, by my former inquiries concerning the event oi 


THE ANTI(iUAU\ 


139 


that deplorable evening, that a child and woman were 
carried that night from the cottage at the Craigburn- 
foot in a carriage and four by your brother Edward 
Geraldin Neville, whose journey towards England with 
these companions I traced for several stages. I believed 
then it was a part of the family compact to carry a child 
whom you meant to stigmatize with illegitimacy, out of 
that country, where chance might have raised protectors 
and proofs of its rights. But I now think that your broth- 
er, having reason, like yourself, to believe the child stain- 
ed with shame yet more indelible, had nevertheless with- 
drawn it, partly from regard to the honour of his house 
partly from the risk to which it might have been exposed 
in the neighbourhood of the Lady Glenallan.” 

As he spoke, the Earl of Glenallan grew extremely 
pale, and had nearly fallen from his chair. The alarmed 
Antiquary ran hither and thither looking for remedies ; 
but his museum, though sufficiently well filled with a vast 
variety of useless matters, contained nothing that could be 
serviceable on that or any other occasion. As he posted 
out of the room to borrow his sister’s salts, he could not 
help giving a constitutional growl of chagrin and wonder 
at the various incidents which had converted his mansion, 
first into an hospital for a wounded duellist, and now into 
the sick chamber of a dying nobleman. “ And yet,” 
said he, “ I have always kept aloof from the soldiery 
and the peerage. My ccenobitium has only next to be 
made a lying-in hospital, and then, I trow, the transfor- 
mation will be complete.” 

When he returned with the remedy. Lord Glenallan 
was much better. The new and unexpected light which 
Mr. Oldbuck had thrown upon the melancholy history of 
his family had almost overpowered him. “ You think 
then, Mr. Oldbuck, — for you are capable of thi iking, 
which I am not — you think, then, that it is possible — that 
is, not impossible — my child may yet live 9” 

“ I think,” said the Antiquary, “ it is impossible that 
it could come to any violent harm through your brother’s 
means. He was known to be a gay and dissipated man. 


140 


Tilli ANT1(|IAUY. 


but not cruel nor dishonourable, — nor is it possible, ihat^ 
if he had intended any foul play, he would have placed 
himself so forward in the charge of the infant, as I will 
prove to your lordship he did.” 

So saying, Mr. Oldbuck opened a drawer of the cab- 
inet of his ancestor, Aldobrand, and produced a bundle 
of papers tied with a black ribband, and labelled. Exam- 
inations, &ic. taken by Jonathan Oldbuck, J. P. upon the 
1 8th of February, 17 — ; a little under was written, in 
a small hand, Eheu Evelina ! The tears dropped fast 
from the Earl’s^ eyes, as he endeavoured, in vain, to un- 
fasten the knot which secured these documents. 

“ Your lordship,” said Mr. Oldbuck, “ had better 
not read these at present. Agitated as you are, and having 
much business before you, you must not exhaust your 
strength. Your brother’s succession is now, I presume, 
your own, and it will be easy for you to make inquiry 
among his servants and retainers, so as to hear where the 
child is, if, fortunately, it shall be still alive.” 

“ I dare hardly hope it,” said the Earl, with a deep 
sigh, — “ why should my brother have been silent to me ?” 

“ Nay, my lord ! why should he have communicated 
to your lordship the existence of a being, whom you 
must have supposed the offspring of’ 

“ Most true — there is an obvious and a kind reason 
for his being silent. If anything, indeed, could have 
added to the horror of the ghastly dream that has poison- 
ed my whole existence, it must have been the knowledge 
that such a child of misery existed.” 

“ Then,” continued the Antiquary, “ although it would 
be rash to conclude, at the distance of more than twenty 
years, that your son must needs be still alive, because he 
was not destroyed in infancy, I own 1 think you should 
instantly set on foot inquiries.” 

“ It shall be done,” replied Lord Glenallan, catching 
eagerly at the hope held out to him, the first he had nour- 
ished for many years ; “ I will write to a faithful steward of 
my father, who acted in the same capacity under my brother 
Neville — but, Mr. Oldbuck, I am not my brother’s heir.” 

“ Indeed ! — I am sorry for that, my lord — it is a nobP 


THE A^’TiqUAIlY. 


141 


estate, and the ruins of the old castle of Neville’s-Burgh 
alone, which are the most superb reliques of Anglo-Nor- 
man architecture in that part of the country, are a pos- 
session much to be coveted. I thought your father had 
no other son or near relative.” 

“ He had not, Mr. Oldbuck,” replied Lord Glenallan ; 
‘‘ but my brother adopted views in politics, and a form ol 
religion, alien from those which had been always held by 
our house. Our tempers had long differed, nor did my 
unhappy mother always think him sufficiently observant 
to her. In short, there was a family quarrel ; and my 
brother, whose . property was at his own free disposal, 
availed himself of the power vested in him to choose a 
stranger for his heir. It is a matter which never struck 
me as being of the least consequence ; for, if worldly 
possessions could alleviate misery, I have enough and to 
spare. But now I shall regret it, if it throws any diffi- 
cuhy in the way of our inquiries — and I bethink me that 
it may ; for, in case of my having a lawful son of my body, 
and my brother dying without issue, my father’s posses- 
sions stood entailed upon my son. It is not, therefore, 
likely that this heir, be who he may, will afford us assist- 
ance in making a discovery which may turn out so much 
to his own prejudice.” 

“ And in all probability the steward your lordship men- 
tions is also in his service,” said the Antiquary. 

“ It is most likely ; and the man being a Protestant — • 
how far it is safe to intrust him” 

“ I should hope, my lord,” said Oldbuck, gravely, 
‘‘ that a Protestant may be as trustworthy as a Catholic. 
I am doubly interested in the Protestant faith, my lord. 
My ancestor, Aldobrand Oldenbuck, printed the celebrat- 
ed Confession of Augsburg, as I can show by the original 
edition now in this house.” 

I have not the least doubt of what you say, Mr. Old- 
buck,” replied the Earl, “ nor do I speak out of bigotry 
or intolerance ; but probably the Protestant steward will 
favour the Protestant heir rather than the Catholic — if 
indeed, my son has been bred in his father’s faith — or, 
alas ! if indeed he yet lives.” 


142 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


“ We must look close into this,” saidOldbuck, befo/c 
committing ourselves. I have a literary friend at York, 
with whom I have long corresponded on the subject oi 
the Saxon horn that is preserved in the Minster there ; 
we interchanged letters for six years, and Iiave only as 
yet been able to settle the first line of the inscription. I 
will write forthwith to this gentleman. Dr. Dryasdust, and 
be particular in my inquiries concerning the character, 
8ic., of your brother’s heir, of the gentleman employed 
in his affairs, and what else may be likely to further your 
lordship’s inquiries. In the meantime your lordship will 
collect the evidence of the marriage, which 1 hope can 
still be recovered 

“ Unquestionably,” replied the Earl ; “ the witnesses 
who were formerly withdrawn from your research are still 
living. My tutor, who solemnized the marriage, was pro- 
vided for by a living in France, and has lately returned to 
this country as an emigrant, a victim of his zeal for loy- 
alty, legitimacy, and religion.” 

“ That’s one lucky consequence of the French Revo- 
lution, my lord — you must allow that, at least,” said Old- 
buck ; “ but no offence, I will act as warmly in your af- 
fairs as if I were of your own faith in politics and religion. 
And take my advice — If you want an affair of consequence 
properly managed, put it into the hands of an antiquary ; 
for, as they are eternally exercising their genius and research 
upon trifles, it is impossible they can be baffled in affairs 
of importance — use makes perfect ; and the corps that is 
most frequently drilled upon the parade, will be most 
prompt in its exercise upon the day of battle. And, talk- 
ing upon that subject, I would willingly read to your lord 
ship, in order to pass away the time betwixt and supper” — 

“ I beg I may not interfere with family arrangements,” 
said Lord Glenallan, “ but I never taste anything after 
sunset.” 

“ Nor I either, my lord,” answered his host, not- 
withstanding it is said to have been the custom of the 
ancients — but then I dine differently from your lordship 
and therefore am better enabled to dispense with tho.se 


THR ANTHiU\RY. 


143 


elaborate entertainments which my womankind (that is, 
my sister and niece, my lord,) are apt to place on the 
table, for the display rather of their own housewifery than 
the accormnodation of our wants. However, a broiled 
bone, or a smoked haddock, or an oyster, or a slice ol 
bacon of our own curing, with a toast and a tankard — or 
something or other of that sort, to close the orifice of the 
stomach before going to bed, does not fall under my re- 
■’trictioii, nor, I hope, under your lordship’s.” 

“ My no-supper is literal, Mr. Oldbuck; but I will at- 
tend you at your meal with pleasure.” 

“ Well, my lord,” replied the Antiquary, “ I will en- 
deavour to entertain your ears at least, since I cannot ban- 
quet your palate. What I am about to read to your lord- 
ship relates to the upland glens.” 

Lord Glenallan, though he would rather have recurred 
to the subject of his own uncertainties, was compelled to 
make a sign of rueful civility and acquiescence. 

The Antiquary, therefore, took out his portfolio of loose 
sheets, and, after premising that the topographical details 
here laid down were designed to illustrate a slight essay 
upon castrametation, which had been read with indul- 
gence at several societies of Antiquaries, he commenced 
as follows : “ The subject, my lord, is the hill-fort of 

Quickens-bog, with the site of which your lordship is 
doubtless familiar : It is upon your store-farm of Mantan- 
ner, in the barony of Clochnaben.” 

“ I think I have heard the names of these places,” 
said the Earl, in answer to the Antiquary’s appeal. 

“ Heard the name 9 and the farm brings him six hun- 
dred a-year — O Lord !” 

Such was the scarce subdued ejaculation of the Anti- 
quary. But his hospitality got the better of his surprise, 
and he proceeded to read his essay with an audible voice, 
in great glee at having secured a patient, and, as he fondly 
hoped, an interested hearer. 

“ Quickens-bog may at first seem to derive its name 
from the plant Q^uicken, by which, Scottice, we under- 
stand couch-grass, dog-grass, or the Triticum repens of 


144 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


Linnaeus, and the common English monosyllable Bog^ b} 
which we mean, in popular language, a marsh or morass 
in Latin, Palus. But it may confound the rash adopters 
of the more obvious etymological derivations, to learn 
that the couch-grass or dog-grass, or, to speak scientifi- 
cally, the triticum repens of Linnaeus, does not grow 
within a quarter of a mile of this castrum or hill-fort, 
whose ramparts are uniformly clothed with short verdant 
turf ; and that we must seek a bog or palus at a still 
greater distance, the nearest being that of Gird-the-mear, 
a full half-mile distant. The last syllable, hog, is obvi- 
ously, therefore, a mere corruption of the Saxon Burgh, 
which we find in the various transmutations of Burgh, 
Burrow, Brough, Bruff, Buff, and Boff, which last ap- 
proaches very near the sound in question — since, sup- 
posing the word to have been originally horgh, which is 
the genuine Saxon spelling, a slight change, such as mod- 
ern organs too often make upon ancient sounds, will pro- 
duce first Bogh, and then, elisaH, or compromiang and 
sinking the guttural, agreeable to che common vernacular 
practice, you have either Boff or Bog as it happens. The 
word (Quickens requires in like manner to be altered, — de- 
composed, as it were, — and reduced to its original and gen- 
uine sound, ere we can discern its real meaning. By the 
ordinarv exchange of the ()u into fVh, familiar to the rudest 
tyro who has opened a book of old Scottish poetry, we 
gain either Whilkens, or Whichens-borgh — put, we may 
suppose, by way of question, as if those who imposed the 
name, struck with the extreme antiquity of the place, had 
expressed in it an interrogation, ‘ To whom did this fort- 
ress belong V — Or, it might be Whackens^hurgh, from 
the Saxon Whacken, to strike with the hand, as doubt- 
less the skirmishes near a place of such apparent conse- 
quence must have legitimated such a derivation,” &ic. &z;c. 

1 will be more merciful to my readers than Oldbuck 
was to his guest ; for, considering his opportunities of 
gaining patient attention from a person of such conse- 
quence as Lord Glenallan were not many, he used or 
rather abused, the present to the uttermost. 


TIIK ANTIQ,UARY. 


I40 


CHAPTER XV. 

Crabbed age and youth 
Cannot live together : — 

Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care ; 

Youth like summer mom, 

Age like winter weather, 

Youth like summer brave. 

Age like winter bare. 

Shakspeare. 

In the morning of the following day, the Antiquary, 
who was something of a sluggard, was summoned from 
his bed a full hour earlier than his custom by Caxon. 

“ What’s the matter now *?” he exclaimed, yawning 
and stretching forth his hand to the huge gold repeater, 
which, bedded upon his India silk handkerchief, was laid 
safe by his pillow — “ What’s the matter now, Caxon 9 
— it can’t be eight o’clock yet.” 

“ Na, sir, — but my lord’s man sought me out, for he 
fancies me your honour’s valley-de-sham, — and sae I am, 
there’s nae doubt o’t, baith your honour’s and the minis- 
ter’s — at least ye hae nae other that I ken o’ — and 1 gie 
a help to Sir Arthur too, but that’s mail* in the way o’ my 
profession.” 

“ Well, well — never mind that,” said the Antiquary, 
‘‘ happy is he that is his own valley-de-sham, as you call 
It — but why disturb my morning’s rest 

“ Ou, sir, the great man’s been up since peep o’ day, 
anr. he’s steered the town to get awa an express to fetch 
his carriage, and it will be here briefly, and he wad like 
to see your honour afore he gaes awa.” 

“ Gadso !” ejaculated Oldbuck, “ these great men 
use one’s house and time as if they were their own pro- 
perty. Well, it’s once and away. — Has Jenny come tc 
her senses yet, Caxon 

VOL. II 


1-16 


TIIK ANTiqUARV. 


“ Troth, sir, but just middling,” replied the barber , 

'* she's been in a swither about the jocolate this morning 
and was like to hae toomed it a’ out into the slap-basin, 
and drank it hersell in her ecstasies — but she’s won ower 
wi’t, wi’ the help o’ Miss M’lntyre.” 

“ Then all my womankind are on foot and scrambling, 
and I must enjoy my quiet bed no longer, if 1 would have 
a well-regulated house — Lend me my gown. — And what 
are the news at Fairport 

“ Ou, sir, what can they be about but this grand news o’ 
my lord,” answered the old man ; “ that hasna been ower 
the door-stane, they threep to me, for this twenty years — 
this grand news of his coming to visit your honour !” 

“ Aha !” said Monkbarns, “ and what do they say of 
that, Caxon ?” 

“ ’Deed, sir, they hae various opinions. Thae fallows 
that are the democraws, as they ca’ them, thqt are again’ 
the king and the law, and hair powder, and dressing o’ 
gentlemen’s wigs — a wheen blackguards — they say he’s 
come doun to speak wi’ your honour about bringing doun 
his hill lads and Highland tenantry to break up the meet- 
ings of the Friends o’ the People — and when I said your 
honour never meddled wi’ the like o’ sic things where 
there was like to be straiks and bloodshed, they said, if 
ye didna, your nevoy did, and that he was weel kend to 
be a kingsrnan that wad fight knee-deep, and that ye were 
the head and he was the hand, and that the Yerl was to 
bring out the men and the siller.” 

“ Come,” said the Antiquary, laughing, “ I am glad 
the war is to cost me nothing but counsel.” 

“ Na, na,” said Caxon, “ naebody thinks your honour 
wad either fight yoursell, or gie ouy feck o’ siller to ony 
side o’ the question.” 

“ Urnph ! well, that’s the opinion of the democraws 
as you call them — What say the rest of Fairport ?” 

“ In troth,” said the candid reporter, “ 1 canna say it’s 

muckle better Captain Coquet, of the volunteers, — 

that’s him that’s to be tlie new collector. — and some ot 
die otl«er gentlemen of tlie Blue and a’ Blue Club, are 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 




just saying it’s no right to let papists, that bae sae mony 
French friends as the Yerl of Glenallan, gang through 
the country, and — but your honour will maybe be angry f ” 
. “ Not I, Caxon,” said Oldbuck — “ fire away as il’ you 
were Captain Coquet’s whole platoon, — 1 can stand it.” 

“ Weel, then, they say, sir, that as ye didna encourage 
the petition about the peace, and wadna petition in favour 
of the new tax, and as ye were again’ bringing in the 
yeomanry at the meal mob, but just for settling the folk 
wi’ the constables — they say ye’re no a gude friend to 
government 5 and that thae sort o’ meetings between sic 
a powerfu’ man as the Yerl, and sic a wise man as you, — 
odd, they think they suld be lookit after, and some say ye 
should baith be shankit afF till Edinburgh castle.” 

“ On my word,” said the Antiquary, “ I am infinitely 
obliged to my neighbours for their good opinion of me ! 
And so, I, that have never interfered with their bicker- 
ings, but to recommend quiet and moderate measures, 
am given up on both sides as a man very likely to commit 
high treason, either against King or People — Give me 
my coat, Caxon, — give me my coal — It’s lucky 1 live 
not in their report. Have you heard anything of TafFril 
and his vessel 9” 

Caxon’s countenance fell “ Na, sir, and the winds 
hae been high, and this is a fearfu’ coast to cruise on in 
thae eastern gales, — the headlands rin sae far out, that a 
veshell’s embayed afore I could sharp a razor ; and then 
there’s nae harbour or city of refuge on our coast, a’ 
craigs and breakers. A veshell that rins ashore wi’ us 
flees asunder like the powther when I shake the plulf— 
and it’s as ill to gather ony o’t again. I aye tell my daugh- 
ter thae things when she grows wearied for a letter frae 
l^ieutenant TafFril — It’s aye an apology for him — Ye suld- 
na blame him, says I, hinnie, for ye little ken what may 
liae happened.” 

“ Ay, ay, Caxon, thou art as good a comforter as a 
\^alet-de-chambre. Give me a white stock, man, — d’ye 
ifiink I can go down with a handkerchief about my neck 
when lhave company 9” 


143 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


Dear sir, the Captain says a three-nookit handker- 
cher is the maist fashionable overlay, and that stocks 
belang to your honour and me that are auld-vvarld folk, 
i beg pardon for mentioning us tvva thegither, but it was 
what he said.” 

“ The Captain’s a puppy, and you are a goose, Caxon.” 

“ It’s very like it may be sae,” replied the acquiescent 
barber, — “ I am sure your honour kens best.” 

Before breakfast. Lord Glenallan, who appeared in 
better spirits than he had evinced in the former evening, 
went particularly through the various circumstances of 
evidence which the exertions of Oldbuck had formerly 
collected ; and pointing out the means which he possess- 
ed of completing the proof of his marriage, expressed his 
resolution instantly to go through the painful task of col- 
lecting and restoring the evidence concerning the birth 
of Eveline Neville, which Elspeth had stated to be in his 
mother’s possession. 

“ And yet, Mr. Oldbuck,” he said, “ I feel like a man 
who receives important tidings ere he is yet fully awake, 
and doubt whether they refer to actual life, or are not 
rather a continuation of his dream. This woman, — this 
Elspeth, — she is in the extremity of age, and approaching 
in many respects to dotage. Have I not, — it is a hideous 
question, — have I not been hasty in the admission of her 
present evidence, against that which she formerly gave 
me to a very — very different purpose T’ 

Mr. Oldbuck paused a moment and then answered with 
firmness — “ No, my lord, I cannot think you have any 
reason to suspect the truth of what she has told you last, 
from no apparent impulse but the urgency of conscience 
Her confession was voluntary, disinterested, distinct, con 
sistent with itself, and with all the other known circum- 
stances of the case. I would lose no time, however, in 
examining and arranging the other documents to which 
she has referred, and 1 also think her own statemenl^should 
be taken down, if possible, in a formal manner. We 
thought of setting about this together. But it will be a 
relief to your lordship, and, moreover, have a more ira 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


14G 


partial appearance, were I to attempt the investigation 
alone, in the capacity of a magistrate. I will do this, at 
least 1 will attempt it, so soon as I shall see her in a fa- 
vourable state of mind to undergo an examination.” 

Lord Glenallan wrung the Antiquary’s hand in token ol 
grateful acquiescence. “ I cannot express to you,” he 
jaid, JMr. Oldbuck, how much your countenance and 
co-operation in this dark and most melancholy business 
gives me relief and confidence. J cannot enough applaud 
myself for yielding to the sudden impulse which imjielled 
me, as it were, to drag you into my confidence, and which 
arose from the experience I had formerly of your firmness, 
in discharge of your duty as a magistrate, and as a friend 
to the memory of the unfortunate. Whatever the issue 
of these matters may prove, — and I would fain hope there 
is a dawm breaking on the fortunes of my house, though 
I shall not live to enjoy its light, — but whatsoever be the 
issue, you have laid my family and me under the most 
lasting obligation.” 

“ My lord,” answered the Antiquary, “ I must neces- 
sarily have the greatest respect for your lordship’s family, 
which 1 am well aware is one of the most ancient in Scot- 
land, being certainly derived from Aymer de Geraldin, 
who satin Parliament at Perth, in the reign of Alexander 
II., and who, by the less vouched, yet plausible tradition 
of the country, is said to have been descended from tlio 
Marmor of Clochnaben. — ^Yet, with all my veneration for 
your ancient descent, I must acknowledge that I find my- 
self still more bound to give your lordship what assist- 
ance is in my limited power, from sincere sympathy with 
your sorrows, and detestation at the frauds which have 
so long been practised upon you. But, my lord, the 
matin meal is, 1 see, now prepared — Permit me to show 
your lordship the way through the intricacies of my coi- 
nobUiujUj which is rather a combination of cells, jostled 
oddly together, and piled one upon the top of the other, 
tlian a regular house. 1 trust you will make yourself some 
amends lc)r the spare diet of yesterday.” 

VOL. II. 


160 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


But this was no part of Lord Glenallan’s system : hav 
ing saluted the company with the grave and melancholy 
politeness which distinguished his manners, his servant 
[>!aced before him a slice of toasted bread, with a glass 
of fair water, being the fare on wdiich he usually broke 
his fast. While the morning’s meal of the young soldier 
and the old Antiquary was despatched in a much more 
substantial manner, the noise of wheels was heard. 

“ Your lordship’s carriage, I believe,” said Oldbuck, 
stepping to the window. “ On my word, a handsome 
(Quadriga, for such, according to the best scholium, was 
the vox signata of the Romans for a chariot which, like 
that of your lordship, was drawn by four horses.” 

“ And I will venture to say,” cried Hector, eagerly 
gazing from the window, “ that four handsomer or belter- 
matched bays never were put in harness. What fine 
fore-hands ! — what capital chargers they would make ! — 
Might I ask if they are of your lordship’s own breeding V' 

“ I — I — rather believe so,” said Lord Glenallan ; 
“ but I have been so negligent of my domestic matters, 
that I am ashamed to say 1 must apply to Calvert,” (look 
ing at the domestic.) 

“ They are of your lordship’s own breeding,” said 
Calvert, “ got by Mad Tom out of Jemima and Yarico, 
your lordship’s brood mares.” 

“ Are there more of the set 9” said Lord Glenallan. 

Two, my lord, — one rising four, the other five off 
this grass, both very handsome.” 

“ Then let Dawkins bring them down to Monkbarns 
to-morrow,” said the Earl — “ I hope Captain M’lntyre 
will accept them, if they are at all fit for service.” 

Captain M’Intyre’s eyes sparkled, and he was profuse 
in grateful acknowledgments ; while Oldbuck, on the 
other hand, seizing the Earl’s sleeve, endeavoured to in- 
tercept a present which boded no good to his corn-chest 
and hay-loft. 

“ JVly lord — my lord — much obliged — much obliged 
— but Hector is a pedestrian, and never mounts on horse- 
back in battle — he is a Highland soldier, moreover, and 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


151 


his dress ill adapted for cavalry service. Even Mac- 
pherson never mounted his ancestors on horseback, though 
he has the impudence to talk of their being car-borne — 
and that, my lord, is what is running in Hector’s head — 
it is ihe vehicular, not the equestrian exercise, which he 
envies — 


* Sunt quos curriculo pulverem Oljmplcutn 
Collegisse juvat.' 

His noddle is running on a curricle, w'hich he has neither 
money to buy, nor skill to drive if he had it ; and 1 
assure your lordship that the possession of two such quad- 
rupeds would prove a greater scrape than any of his 
duels, whether with human foe or with my friend the 
pAora.” 

“ You must command us all at present, Mr. Oldbuck,” 
said the Earl politely, “ but 1 trust you will not ultimate- 
ly prevent my gratifying my young friend in some way 
that may afford him pleasure 

“ Anything useful, my lord,” said Oldbuck, “ but no 
curriculum — I protest he might as rationally propose to 
keep a quadriga at once — And now I think of it, what is 
that old post-chaise from F airport come jingling here for ? 
— I did not send for it.” 

“ 1 did, sir,” said Hector rather sulkily, for he was 
not much gratified by his uncle’s interference to prevent 
the Earl’s intended generosity, nor particularly inclined to 
relish either the disparagement which he cast upon his 
skill as a charioteer, or the mortifying allusion to his bad 
success in the adventures of the duel and the seal. 

You did, sir *?” echoed the Antiquary, in answer to 
his concise information. “ And pray,what may be your 
business with a post-chaise — Is this splendid equipage 
' — this higa^ as 1 may call it — to serve for an introduction 
to a quadriga or a curriculum 

“ Really, sir,” replied the young soldier, if it he 
necessary to give you such a specific explanation, I am 
going to Fairport on a little business.” 

“ Will you permit me to inquire into the nature of that 
business. Hector ?” answered his uncle, who loved the 


152 


TIIK ANTIQ,UA1JT. * 


exercise of a little brief authority over his relative — I 
should suppose any regimental affairs might be transacted 
by your worthy deputy the sergeant — an honest gentle- 
man, who is so good as to make Monkbarns his home 
since his arrival among us — 1 should, 1 say, suppose that 
he may transact any business of yours, without your 
spending a day’s pay on tw^o dog-horses, and such a com 
bination of rotten wood, cracked glass, and leather — such 
a skeleton of a post-chaise, as that before the door.” 

“ It is not regimental business, sir, that calls me ; and 
since you insist upon knowing, 1 must inform you, Caxon 
has brought word this morning that old Ochiltree, the beg- 
gar, is to be brought up for examination to-day, previous 
to his being committed for trial ; and I am going to see 
that the poor old fellow gets fair play — that’s all.” 

“ Ay ^ — I heard something of this, but could not think 
it serious. And pray, Captain Hector, who are so ready 
to be every man’s second on all occasions of strife, civil 
or military, by land, by water, or on the sea-beach, what 
is your especial concern with old Edie Ochiltree V* 

“ He was a soldier in my father’s company, sir,” re- 
plied Hector ; “ and besides, when 1 was about to do a 
very foolish thing one day, he interfered to prevent me, 
and gave me almost as much good advice, sir, as you 
could have done yourself.” 

“ And with the same good effect, I dare be sworn for 
it — Eh, Hector ? — Come, confess it was thrown away.” 

“ Indeed it was, sir ; but I see no reason that my folly 
should make me less grateful for his intended kindness.” 

“ Bravo, Hector ! that’s the most sensible thing I ever 
heard you say — but always tell me your plans without 
reserve — why, I will go with you myself, man — I am sure 
the old fellow is not guilty, and I will assist him in such a 
scrape much more effectually than you can do. Besides, 
It will save thee half-a-guinea, my lad, a consideration 
v.diich I heartily pray you to have more frequently before 
j^our eyes.” 

Lord Glenallan’s politeness had induced him to turn 
away and talk with the ladies, when the dispute between 


THK ANTK^UARY. 


153 


the uncle and nephew appeared to grow rather too ani- 
mated to be fit for the ear of a stranger, but the Earl 
mingled again in the conversation when the placable tone 
of the Antiquary expressed amity. Having received a 
brief account of the mendicant, and of the accusation 
brought against him, which Oldbuck did not hesitate to 
ascribe to the malice 'of Dousterswivel, Lord Glenallan 
asked, whether the individual in question had not been 
a soldier formerly 9” — He was answered in the affirma- 
tive. 

“ Had he not,” continued his lordship, “ a coarse blue 
coat, or gown, with a badge 9 — Was he not a tall, strik- 
ing-looking old man, with grey beard and hair, who kept 
his body remarkably erect, and talked with an air o! 
ease and independence, which formed a strong contrast 
to his profession 9” 

‘‘ All this- is an exact picture of the man,” returned 
Oldbuck. 

“ Why, then,” continued Lord Glenallan, “ allhough 
I fear I can be of no use to him in his present condition, 
yet I owe him a debt of gratitude for being the first person 
who brought me some tidings of the utmost importance. 
I would willingly offer him a place of comfortable retire- 
ment, when he is extricated from his present situation.” 

“ I fear, my lord,” said Oldbuck, “ he would have diffi- 
culty in reconciling his vagrant habits to the acceptance 
of your bounty, at least I know the experiment has been 
tried without effect. To beg from the public at large he 
considers as independence, in comparison to drawing his 
whole support from the bounty of an individual. He is 
so far a true philosopher, as to be a contemner of all ordi- 
nary rules of hours and times. When he is hungiy he 
eats ; when thirsty he drinks ; when weary he sleeps ,* 
and with such indifference with respect to the means and 
appliances about which we make a fuss, that, 1 suppose, 
he was never ill dined or ill lodged in his life. Then he 
is, to a certain extent, the oracle of the district through 
which he travels — their genealogist, their newsman, their 
master ol the revels, their doctor at a pinch, or their di- 


154 


THE ANTKiUARr. 


vine — I promise you he has too many duties, and is toe 
zealous m performing them, to be easily bribed to aban- 
don his calling. But I should be truly sorry if they sen< 
the poor light-hearted old man to lie for weeks in a jail. 
[ am convinced the confinement would break his heart.’ 

Thus finished the conference. Lord Glenallan having 
taken leave of the ladies, renewed his offer to Captain 
J\rintyre of the freedom of his manors for sporting, which 
was joyously accepted. 

“ I can only add,” he said, “ that if your spirits are not 
liable to be damped by dull company, Glenallan-house is 
at all times open to you — On two days of the week, Fri- 
day and Saturday, I keep my apartment, which will be 
rather a relief to you, as you will be left to enjoy the 
society of my almone/, Mr. Gladsmoor, who is a scholar 
and a man of the work'.” 

Hector, his heart exulting at the thoughts of ranging 
through the preserves of Glenallan-house, and over the 
well-protected moors of Clochnaben, nay, joy of joys, 
the deer-forest of Strath-Bonnel, made many acknow- 
ledgments of the honour and gratitude he felt. Mr. Old- 
buck was sensible of the Earl’s attention to his neph- 
ew , Miss M’Intyre was pleased because her brother was 
gratified ; and Miss Griselda Oldbuck looked forward with 
glee to the potting of whole bags of moor-fowl and black 
game, of which Mr. Blattergowl was a professed admirer. 
Thus, — which is. always the case when a man of rank 
leaves a private family where he has studied to appear 
obliging, — all were ready to open in praise of the Earl 
as soon as he had taken his leave, and was wheeled off 
in his chariot by the four admired bays. But the pan- 
cgyric was cut short, for Oldbuck and his nephew de- 
posited themselves in the Fairport hack, which, with one 
horse trotting, and the other urged to a canter, creaked, 
jingled, and hobbled towards that celebrated seaport, in a 
manner that formed a strong contrast to tlie rapidity and 
smoothness with which Lord Glenallan’s equipage had 
seemed to vanish from their eyes. 


THE ANTKiUAIlY. 


155 


CHAPTER XVT. 

Yes ! I love justice well — as well as you do — 

But since the good dame’s blind, she shall excuse me. 

If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ; — 

The breath I utter now shall be no means 
To take away from me my breath in future. 

Old Plaij. 

By dint of charity from the town’s people, in aid of 
tlie load of provisions he had brought with him into dur- 
ance, Edie Ochiltree had passed a day or two’s confine- 
ment without much impatience, regretting his want of 
freedom the less, as the weather proved broken and 
rainy. 

“ The prison,” he said, “ wasna sae dooms bad a place 
as it was ca’d. Ye had aye a good roof ower your head 
to fend afF the weather, and, if the windows werena glaz- 
ed, it was the mair airy and pleasant for the summer 
season. And there were folk enow to crack wi’, and he 
had bread eneugh to eat, and what need he fash himsell 
about the rest o’t 

The courage of our philosophical mendicant began, 
however, to abate, when the sun-beams shone fair on the 
rusty bars of his grated dungeon, and a miserable linnet, 
whose cage some poor debtor had obtained permission to 
attach to the window, began to greet them with his whistle. 

“ Ye’re in better spirits than 1 am,” said Edie, address- 
ing the bird, “ for I can neither whistle nor sing for think- 
ing o’ the bonny burnsides and green shaws that I should 
hae been dandering beside in weather like this. — But hae, 
there’s some cruinbs t’ye, an ye are sae merry ; an troth 
ye hae some reason to sing an ye kent it, for your cage 
comes by nae faut o’ your ain, and I may thank mjsell 
that 1 am closed up in thi:. weary place.” 

18 


156 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y* 


Ochiltree’s soliloquy was disturbed by a peace-office.', 
who came to summon him to attend the magistrate. So 
he set forth in awful procession between two poor crea- 
tures, neither of them so stout as he was himself, to be 
conducted into the presence of inquisitorial justice. The 
people, as the aged prisoner was led along by his decrepit 
guards, exclaimed to each other, “ Eh ! see sic a grey- 
haired man as that is, to have committed a highway rob- 
bery, wi’ ae fit in the grave 1” — And the children con- 
gratulated the officers, objects of their alternate dread and 
sport, Puggie Orrock and Jock Ormston, on having a 
prisoner as old as themselves. 

Thus marshalled forward, Edie was presented (hy no 
means for the first time) before the worshipful Baillie 
Littlejohn, who, contrary to what his name expressed, was 
a tall portly magistrate, on whom corporation crusts had 
not been conferred in vain. He was a zealous loyalist 
of that zealous time, somewhat rigorous and peremptory 
in the execution of his duty, and a good deal inflated with 
the sense of his own power and importance, otherwise an 
honest, well-meaning, and useful citizen. 

“ Bring him in, bring him in !” he exclaimed ; “ upon 
my word these are awful and unnatural times — the very 
bedesmen and retainers of his Majesty are the first to break 
his laws — Here has been an old blue-gown committing 
robbery ! I suppose the next will reward the royal char- 
ity, which supplies him with his garb, pension, and beg- 
ging license, by engaging in high-treason, or sedition at 
least — But bring him in.” 

Edie made his obeisance, and then stood; as usual, 
firm and erect, with the side of his face turned a little 
upward, as if to catch every word which the magistrate 
might address to him. To the first general questions, 
which respected only his name and calling, the mendicant 
answered with readiness and accuracy ; but when the 
magistrate, having caused his clerk to take down these 
particulars, began to inquire whereabout the mendicant 
was on the night when Dousterswivel met with his mis- 
fortune, Edie demurred to the motion. “ Can ye tell me 


THE ANTIQ,EARY. 




now, Baillie, you that understands the law, what gude will 
it do me to answer ony o’ your questions 9” 

“ Good ? no good certainly, my friend, except that 
giving a true account of yourself, if you are innocent, 
may entitle me to set you at liberty.” 

“ But it seems mair reasonable to me, now, that you, 
Baillie, or ony body that has onything to say against me, 
should prove my guilt, and no to be bidding me prove 
my innocence.” 

“ I don’t sit here,” answered the magistrate, “ to dis- 
pute points of law with yOu. 1 ask you, if you choose to 
answer my question, whether you were at Ringan Aik- 
wood the forester’s, upon the day I have specified 9” 

“ Really, sir, I dinna feel myself call’d on to remem- 
ber,” replied the cautious bedesman. 

“ Or whether, in the course of that day or night,” con- 
tinued the magistrate, “ you saw Steven, or Steenie, 
Mucklebackit — you knew him, 1 suppose?” 

“ O brawlie did I ken Steenie, puir fallow,” replied 
the prisoner — “ but Icanna condeshend on ony particular 
time I have seen him lately.” 

“ Were you at the ruins of St. Ruth any time in the 
course of that evening ?” 

“ Baillie Littlejohn,” said the mendicant, “ if it be your 
honour’s pleasure, we’ll cut a lang tale short, and I’ll 
just tell ye, I am no minded to answer ony o’ thae ques- 
tions — I’m ower auld a traveller to let my tongue bring 
me into trouble.” 

‘‘ Write down,” said the magistrate, that he declines 
to answer all interrogatories, in respect that by telling 
the truth he might be brought to trouble.” 

“ Na, na,” said Ochiltree, “ I’ll no hae that set down 
as ony part o’ my answer — but I just meant to say, that 
in a’ my memory and practice, I never saw ony gude 
come o’ answering idle questions.” 

“ Writedown,” said tije Haillie, “ that, being acquaint- 
ed with judicial interrogatories by long practice, and hav- 

VOL. II. 


168 


THE ANTiqUAllY. 


iiig sustained injury by answering questions put tc? him on 
sucii occasions, the declarant refuses” 

“ Na, na, Baillle.” reiterated Edie, “ ye are no to come 
in on me that gait neither.” 

“ Dictate the answer yourself then, friend,” said thd 
magistrate, “ and the clerk will take it down from youi 
own mouth.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said Edie, “ that’s what I ca’ fair play ; 
[’se do that without loss o’ time. — Sae, neighbour, ye 
may just write down, that Edie Ochiltree, the declarant, 
stands up for the liberty— na, I maunna say that neither— 1 
am nae liberty-boy — I hae fought again’ them in the riots 
in Dublin — besides, I have ate the King’s bread mony a 
day. Stay, let me see — Ay — write that Edie Ochiltree, 
the Blue-go\vn, stands up for the prerogative — (see that 
ye spell that word right — it’s a lang ane) — for the pre- 
rogative of the subjects of the land, and winna answer a 
single word -that sail be asked at him this day, unless he 
sees a reason for’t. — Put down that, young man.” 

“ Then, Edie,” said the magistrate, “ since you will 
give me no information on the subject, I must send you back 
to prison till you shall be delivered in due course of law.” 

“ Aweel, sir, if it’s Heaven’s will and man’s will, nae 
doubt I maun submit,” replied the mendicant. “ 1 hae 
nae great objection to the prison, only that a body canna 
win out o’t ; and if it wad please you as weel, Baillie, 1 
wad gie you my word to appear afore the Lords at the 
Circuit, or in ony other court ye like, on ony day ye are 
pleased to appoint.” 

“ 1 rather think, my good friend,” answered Baillie 
Littlejohn, “ your word might be a slender security where 
your neck may be in some danger. I am apt to think 
} ou would suffer the pledge to be forfeited. — If you could 
give me sufficient security, indeed” 

At this moment the Antiquary and Captain M’Intyre 
entered the apartment. — “ Good morning to you, gentle- 
men,” said the magistrate ; “ you find me toiling in ray 
usual vocation — looking after the iniquities of the people 
— labouring for the respuhlica, Mr. Oldbuck — serving 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


159 


the King our master, Captain M’Intyre, — for I suppose 
you know I have taken up the sword 9” 

“ It is one of the emblems of justice, doubtless,” an 
swered the Antiquary ; “ but I should have thought the 
scales would have suited you better, Baillie, especially as 
you have them ready in the warehouse.” 

“ Very good, Monkbarns — excellent ; but I do not 
take the sword up as justice, but as a soldier — indeed I 
should rather say the musquet and bayonet — there they 
stand at the elbow of my gouty chair, for 1 am scarce fit 

for drill yet A slight touch of our old acquaintance 

podagra — I can keep my feet, however, while our ser- 
geant puts me through the manual. I should like to 
know, Captain Mlntyre, if he follows the regulations cor- 
rectly — he brings us but awkwardly to the present^ And 
he hobbled towards his weapon to illustrate his doubts 
and display his proficiency. 

I rejoice we have such zealous defenders, Baillie,” 
replied Mr. Oldbuck ; “ and I dare say Hector will grat- 
ify you by communicating his opinion on your progress in 
this new calling. Why, you rival the Hecate of the an- 
cients, my good sir — a merchant on the Mart, a magis- 
trate in the Town-house, a soldier on the Links — quid non 
vro patria ? But my business is with the justice ; so let 
commerce and war go slumber.” 

‘‘ Well, my good sir,” said the Baillie, “ and what 
commands have you for me *?” 

“ Why, here’s an old acquaintance of mine, called Edie 
Ochiltree, whom some of your myrmidons have mewed 
up in jail, on account of an alleged assault on that fellow 
Dousterswivel, of whose accusation I do not believe one 
word.” 

The magistrate here assumed a very grave coun- 
tenance. “ You ought to have been informed that he is 
accused of robbery, as well as assault ; a veiy serious 
matter indeed — it is not often such criminals come under 
my cogiizance.” 


160 


THE ANTK^UAIIT. 


And,” replied Oldbuck, “ you are tenacious of llie 
opportunity of making the very most of such as occur. 
But is this poor old man’s case really so very had 

“ It is rather out of rule,” said the Baillie ; “ hut as 
you are in the commission, Monkharns, I have no hesita- 
tion to show you Dousterswivel’s declaration, and the 
rest of the precognition.” And he put the papers into 
the Antiquary’s hands, who assumed his spectacles, and 
sat down in a corner to peruse them. 

The officers in the mean time had directions to remove 
their prisoner into another apartment ; hut before they 
could do so, M’Intyre took an opportunity to greet old 
Edie, and to slip a guinea into his hand. 

“ Lord bless your honour,” said the old man ; “ it’s a 
young soldier’s gift, and it should surely thrive wi’ an 
auld ane. I’se no refuse it, though it’s beyond my rules ; 
for if they steek me up here, my friends are like eneugh 
to forget me — out o’ sight out o’ mind, is a true proverb 
— And it wadna be creditable for me, that am the King’s 
bedesman, and entitled to beg by word of mouth, to be 
fishing for bawbees out at the jail window wi’ the fit o’ a 
stocking and a string.” As he made this observation he 
was conducted out of the apartment. 

Mr. Dousterswivel’s declaration contained an exagger- 
ated account of the violence he had sustained, and also of 
his loss. 

“ But what I should have liked to have asked him,” said 
IMonkbarns, “ would have been his purpose in frequenting 
the ruins of St. Ruth, so lonely a place, at such an hour, 
and with such a companion as Edie Ochiltree. There 
is no road lies that way, and I do not conceive a mere 
passion for the picturesque would carry the German thith- 
er in such a night of storm and wind. Depend upon it, lie 
has been about some roguery, and, in all probability, hath 
been caught in a trap of his own setting — JVec lex just i- 
tior ullay 

The magistrate allowed there was something mysterious 
in that circumstance, and apologized for not pressing 
Dousterswivel, as his declaration was voluntarily emitted. 


THE A\TI(^UAllY. 


161 


But for the support of the main charge, he showed the 
declaration of the Aik woods concerning the state in which 
Dousterswivel was found, and establishing the important 
fact, that the mendicant had left the barn in which he 
was quartered, and did not return to it again. Two 
people belonging to the Fairport undertaker, who had that 
night been employed in attending the funeral of Lady 
Glenallan, had also given declarations, that, being sent to 
pursue two suspicious persons who left the ruins of St. Ruth 
as the funeral approached, and who, it was supposed, might 
liave been pillaging some of the ornaments prepared for 
the ceremony, they had lost and regained sight of them 
more than once, owing to the nature of the ground, which 
was unfavourable for riding, but had at length fairly lodged 
them both in Mucklebackit’s cottage. And one of the 
men added, that “ he, the declarant, having dismounted 
from his horse, and gone close up to the window of the 
hut, he saw the old Blue-gown and young Steenie Muck- 
lebackit, with others, eating and drinking in the inside, and 
also observed the said Steenie Mucklebackit show a pock- 
et-book to the others ; and declarant has no doubt that 
Ochiltree and Steenie Mucklebackit were the persons 
whom he and his comrade had pursued, as abovemen- 
tioned.” And being interrogated why he did not enter 
the said cottage, declares, “ he had no warrant so to do ; 
and that as Mucklebackit and his family were understood 
to be rough-handed folk, he, the declarant, had no desire 
to meddle or make with their affairs. Causa scieniice 
vatet. All which he declares to be truth,” &z;c. 

What do you say to that body of evidence against 
your friend ?” said the magistrate, when he had observed 
the Antiquary had turned the last leaf. 

‘‘ Why, were it in the case of any other person, I own, 
1 should say it looked, prima facie, a little ugly ; but 1 
cannot allow any body to be in the wrong for beating 
Dousterswivel — Had 1 been an hour younger, or had but 
one single flash of your warlike genius, Baillie, I should 
have done it myself long ago — He is nebulo nebulonum, 
vor II. 


162 


TIIK \\ri(tUAI{Y. 


an impudent, fraudulent, mendacious quack, that has cosi 
me a hundred pounds by his roguery ; and my neighboui 
Sir Arthur, God knows how much — And besides, Bailiie. 
1 do not hold- liim to be a sound friend to government.” 

“ Indeed ?” said Bailiie Littlejohn ; “ if 1 thought 
that, it would alter the question considerably.” 

“ Right ; for, in beating him,” observed Oldbuck, 
“ the bedesman must have shown his gratitude to the Kiiig 
by thumping his enemy ; and in robbing him, he would 
only have plundered an Egyptian, whose wealth it is law- 
ful to spoil. Now, suppose this interview in the ruins ol 
St. Ruth had relation to politics, — and this story of hid- 
den treasure, and so forth, was a bribe from the other side 
of the water for some great man, or the funds destined to 
maintain a seditious club ?” 

“ My dear sir,” said the magistrate, catching at the 
idea, ‘‘ you hit my very thoughts ! How fortunate should 
I be if I could become the humble means of sifting such 
a matter to the bottom ! — Don’t you think we had better 
callout the volunteers, and put them on duty?” 

“ Not just yet, while podagra deprives them of an 
essential member of their body. — But will you let me 
examine Ochiltree 

“ Certainly ; but you’ll make nothing of him. He 
gave me distinctly to understand he knew the danger of 
a judicial declaration on the part of an accused person, 
which, to say the truth, has hanged many an honester 
man than he is.” 

“ Well, but, Bailiie,” continued Oldbuck, “ you have 
no objection to let me try him 9” 

None in the world, Monkbarns. — ^Ihear the sergeant 
below, — I’ll rehearse the manual in the meanwhile.— 
Baby, carry my gun and bayonet down to the room be- 
low — it makes less noise there when we ground arn<s.”— ■ 
And so exit the martial magistrate, with his maid behind 
him bearing Iris weapons. 

“ A good squire that wench for a gouty champion,’' 
observed Oldbuck. — ‘‘ Hector, my lad, hook on, hook 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


16 b 


on — Go with him, boy — keep him employed, man, for 
half an hour or so — butter him with some warlike terms 
— praise his dress and address.” 

Captain M’lntyre, who, like many of his profession, 
looked down with infinite scorn on those citizen soldiers, 
who had assumed arms without any professional title to 
bear them, rose with great reluctance, observing, that he 
should not know what to say to Mr. Littlejohn ; and that 
to see an old gouty shopkeeper attempting the exercise 
and duties of a private soldier, was really too ridiculous. 

“ It may be so. Hector,” said the Antiquary, who 
seldom agreed with any person in the immediate propo- 
sition which was laid down, — “ it may possibly be so in 
this and some other instances ; but at present the coun- 
try resembles the suitors in a small debt court, where parties 
plead in person, for lack of cash to retain the professed he- 
roes of the bar. I am sure in the one case we never regret 
the want of the acuteness and eloquence of the lawyers ; 
and so, I hope, in the other, we may manage to make shift 
with our hearts and musquets, though we shall lack some 
of the discipline of you martinets.” 

‘‘ 1 have no objection, I am sure, sir, that the whole 
world should fight if they please, if they will but allow 
me to be quiet,” said Hector, rising with dogged reluc- 
tance. 

‘‘ Yes, you are a very quiet personage indeed,” said 
his uncle ; “ whose ardour for quarrelling cannot pass so 
much as a poor phoca sleeping upon the beach !” 

But Hector, who saw which way the conversation was 
tending, and hated all allusions to the foil he had sustain- 
ed from the fish, made his escape before the Antiquary 
concluded the sentence. 


164 


THE ANTlQ.UAIir. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

Well, well, at worst His neither theft nor coinage 
Granting I knew all that you charge me with. 
What, tho’ the tomb hath born a second birth, 
And given the w’ealth to one that knew not on't. 
Yet fair exchange was never robbery, 

Far less pure bounty. 

Old Play. 


The Antiquary, in order to avail himself of the per- 
mission given him to question the accused party, chose 
rather to go to the apartment in which Ochiltree was de- 
tained, than to make the examination appear formal, by 
bringing him again into the magistrate’s office. He found 
the old man seated by a window which looked out on the 
sea ; and as he gazed on that prospect, large tears found 
their way, as if unconsciously, to his eye, and from thence 
trickled down his cheeks and white beard. His features 
were, nevertheless, calm and composed, and his whole 
posture and mien indicated patience and resignation.' 
Oldbuck had approached him without being observed, and 
roused him out of his musing, by saying kindly, “ I am 
sorry, Edie, to see you so much cast down about this 
matter.” 

The mendicant started, dried his eyes very hastily with 
the sleeve of his gown, and, endeavouring to recover his 
usual tone of indifference and jocularity, answered, but 
with a voice more tremulous than usual, “ I might w^eel 
hae judged, Monkbarns, it was you, or the like o’ you, 
was coming in to disturb me — for it’s ae great advantage 
o’ prisons and courts o’ justice, that ye may greet your een 
out an ye like, and nane o’ the folk that’s concerned about 
them will ever ask you what it’s for.” 

“ Well, Edie,” replied Oldbuck, “ Thope your present 
cause of distress is not so bad but if may be removed.” 


THE ANTiqUAllY* 


165 


“ And I had hoped, Monkbarns,” answered the men- 
dicant in a tone of reproach, “ tliat ye had kend me 
better than to think that this bit trifling trouble o’ my ain 
wad bring tears into my auld een, that hae seen far differ- 
ent kind o’ distress — Na, na ! — But here’s been the puir 
lass, Caxon’s daughter, seeking comfort, and has gotten 
unco little — there’s been nae speerings o’Taffril’s gun-brig 
since the last gale ; and folk report on the key that a 
king’s ship had struck on the Reef of Rattray, and a’ 
liandslost — God forbid ! for as sure as you live. Monk- 
barns, the puir lad Lovel, that ye liked sae weel, must 
have perished.” 

“ God forbid indeed !” eclioed the Antiquary, turning 
pale ; “ 1 would rather Monk barns house were on fire. 
My poor dear friend and coadjutor ! — I wall down to the 
quay instantly.” 

“ I’m sure ye’ll learn naething rnair than I hae tauld 
ye, sir,” said Ochiltree, “ for the officer-folk here were 
very civil, (that is, for the like o’ them,) and lookit up a’ 
their letters and autliorities, and could thraw nae light on’t 
either ae way or another.” 

‘‘ It can’t be true — it shall not be true,” said the An- 
tiquary, “ and I won’t believe it if it were — Taffril’s an 
excellent seaman — and Lovel (my poor Lovel !) lias all 
the qualities of a safe and pleasant companion by land or 
by sea — one, Edie, whom, from the ingenuousness of his 
disposition, I would choose, did I ever go a sea voyage, 
(which I never do, unless across the ferry,) fragihm me- 
cum solvere phaselum, to be the companion of my risk, 
as one against whom the elements could noursh no ven- 
geance. No, Edie, it is not, and cannot be true — it is a 
fiction of the idle jade Rumour, whom 1 wish hanged with 
her trumpet about her neck, that serves only with its 
'icreech-owl tones to fright honest folks out of their senses. 
Let me know how you got into this scrape of your own.” 

‘‘ Are ye axing me as a magistrate, Monkbarns, or is 
it just for your ain satisfaction 

“ For my own satisfaction solely,” replied the Anti- 
quary. 


166 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


‘‘ Put up your pocket-book and your keelyvine pen 
ihen, for I downa speak out an’ ye liae writing materials 
in your hands — they’re a scaur to unlearned folk like me 
— Odd, ane o’ the clerks in the neist room will clink down, 
in black and white, as muckle as wad hang a man, before 
ane kens what he’s saying.” 

Monkbarns complied with the old man’s humour, and 
put up his memorandum-book. 

Edie then went with great frankness through the part 
of the story already known to the reader, informing the 
Antiquary of the scene which he had witnessed between 
Dousterswivel and his patron in the ruins of St. Ruth, and 
frankly confessing that he could not resist the opportunity 
of decoying the ’adept once more to visit the tomb of 
Misticot, with the purpose of taking a comic revenge upon 
him for his quackery. He had easily persuaded Steenie, 
who was a bold thoughtless young fellow, to engage in the 
frolic along with him, and the jest had been inadvertently 
carried a great deal farther than was designed. Concern 
ing the pocket-book, he explained that he had expressed 
his surprise and sorrow as soon as he found it had been 
inadvertently brought off ; and that publicly, before all 
the inmates of the cottage, Steenie had undertaken to 
return it the next day, and had only been prevented by 
his untimely fate. 

The Antiquary pondered a moment, and then said, 
“ Your account seems very probable, Edie, and 1 believe 
it from what I know of the parties — but I think it likely 
that you know a great deal more than you have thought 
it proper to tell me about this matter of the treasure-trove 
— 1 suspect you have acted the part of the Ear F amilia- 
ris in Plautus — a sort of Brownie, Edie, to speak to your 
comprehension, who watched over hidden treasures. 1 
do bethink me you were the first person we met when 
Sir Arthur made his successful attack upon Misticot’s 
grave, and also that when the labourers began to flag, you. 
Edie, were again the first to leap into the trench, and to 
make the discovery of the treasure. Now you must ex- 


THE ANTiqUAUY. 


167 


plain all this to me, unless you would liave me use you 
as ill as Euclio does Stapliyla in the Aurularia.^^ 

“ LordsaUe, sir,” replied the mendicant, “ what do I 
ken about your Howlowlaria ? — it’s mail* like a dog’s lan- 
guage than a man’s.” 

“ You knew, however, of the box of treasure being 
there ?” continued Oldbuck. 

“ Dear sir,” answered Edie, assuming a countenance 
of great simplicity, “ what likelihood is there o’ that ? 
d’ye think sae puir an auld creature as n)e wad hae kend 
o’ sic a like thing without getting some gude out o’t ? — 
and ye wmt weel I sought nane and gat nane, like IMichael 
Scott’s man. What concern could 1 hae wi’t ?” 

“ That’s just what I want you to explain to me,” said 
Oldbuck ; “ for I am positive you knew it w'as there.” 

“ Your honour is a positive man, Monkbarns — and, for a 
positive man, 1 must needs allow ye’re often in the right.” 

“You allow, then, Edie, that my belief is w’ell founded 

Edie nodded acquiescence. 

“ Then please to ex[)lain to me the whole affair from 
beginning to end,” said the Antiquary. 

“ If it were a secret o’ mine, Monkbarns,” replied the 
beggar, “ ye suldna ask twice, for 1 hae aye said ahint 
your back, that, for a’ the nonsense maggots that ye whiles 
take into your head, ye are the maist wise and discreet 
o’ a’ our country gentles. But I’se e’en be o])en-hearted 
'vi’ you, and tell you, that this is a friend’s secret, and 
that they suld draw me wi’ wild horses, or saw me asun- 
der, as they did the children of Ammon, sooner than I 
would speak a word mair about the matter, excepting this, 
that there was nae ill intended, but muckle gude, and that 
the purpose was to serve them that are worth twenty hun- 
dred o’ me. But there’s nae law, I trow, that makes it 
a sin to ken where ither folks’ siller is, if we dinna pit 
hand till’t oursell.” 

Oldbuck walked once or twice up and down the room 
in profound thought, endeavouring to find some plausible 
reason for transactions of a nature so mysterious, but his 
ingenuity was totally at fault. He then placed himselj 
before the prisoner. 


168 


THE ANTK^UAIIY. 


“ This story of yours, friend Edie, is an absolute enig 
ma, and would require a second (Edipus to solve it— who 
CEdipus was, I will tell you some other time if you remind 
me — However, whether it be owing to the wisdom or to 
the maggots with which you compliment me, I am strongly 
disposed to believe that you have spoken the truth, the 
rather, that you have not made any of those obtestations 
of the superior powers, which I observe you and your 
comrades always make use of when you mean to deceive 
folks.” (Here Edie could not suppress a smile.) “ If, 
therefore, you will answer me one question, I will en- 
deavour to procure your liberation.” 

“ If ye’ll let me hear the question,” said Edie, with 
the caution of a canny Scotchman, “ I’ll tell you whether 
I’ll answer it or no.” 

“ It is simply,” said the Antiquary, “ Did Dousterswiv- 
el know anything about the concealment of the chest o^ 
bullion 9” 

“ He, the ill-fa’ard loon !” answered Edie, with much 
frankness of manner, there WhJ liae been little speer- 
ings o’t had Dustansnivel kend it was there — it wad hae 
been butter in the black dog’s hause.” 

“ I thought as much,” said Oldbuck. “ Well, Edie, 
if I procure your freedom, you must keep your day, and 
appear to clear me of the bail-bond, for these are not 
times for prudent men to incur forfeitures, unless you can 
point out another Aulam auri plenam quadrilibrem — 
another Search JVo. 

“ Ah !” said the beggar, shaking his head, I doubt 
the bird’s flown that laid thae golden eggs — for I winna ca’ 
her goose, though thal’s the gait it stands in the story- 
buick — But I’ll keep my day, Monkbarns, ye’se no loss 
a penny by me — And troth I w'ad fain be out again, now 
the weather’s fine-and then I hae the best chance o’ hear- 
ing the first news o’ my friends.” 

“ Well, Edie, as the bouncing and thumping beneath 
has somewhat ceased, I presume Baillie Littlejohn has 
dismissed his military preceptor, and has retired from the 
labours of Mars to those of Themis — I will have some 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


169 


conversation with him — But I cannot and will not believe 
any of those wretched news you were telling me.” 

“ God send your honour may be right!” said the men- 
dicant, as Oldbuck left the room. 

The Antiquary found the magistrate exhausted with the 
fatigues of the drill, reposing in his gouty chair, humming 
the air, “ How merrily we live that soldiers be !” and be- 
tween each bar comforting himself with a spoonful of 
mock-turtle soup. He ordered a similar refreshment for 
Oldbuck, who declined it, observing, that, not being a 
military man, he did not feel inclined to break his habit 
of keeping regular hours for meals — “ Soldiers like you, 
Baillie, must snatch their food as they find means and 
time. Bull am sorry to hear ill news of young Taffril’s 
brig.” 

“ Ah, poor fellow !” said the Baillie, “ he was a credit 
to the town — much distinguished on the first of June.” 

“ But,” said Oldbuck, “ I am shocked to hear you 
talk of him in the preterite tense.” 

Troth, 1 fear there may be too much reason for it, 
Monkbarns ; and yet let us hope the best. The accident 
is said to have happened in the Rattray reef of rocks, 
about twenty miles to the northward, near Dirtenalan Bay 
— I have sent to inquire about it — and your nephew run 
out himself as if he had been flying to get the Gazette of 
a victory.” 

Here Hector entered, exclaiming as he came in, “ I 
believe it’s all a damned lie — I can’t find the least author- 
ity for it, but general rumour.” 

‘‘ And pray, Mr. Hector,” said his uncle, “ if it had 
been true, whose fault would it have been that Lovel was 
on board T’ 

“ Not mine, I am sure,” answered Hector ; ‘‘ It would 
have been only my misfortune.” 

“ Indeed !” said his uncle, “ I should not have thought 
of that.” 

“ Wliv, sir, with all your inclination to find me in the 
ivrong,”* replied the young soldier, “ I suppose you will 
VOL. II 


170 


THK ANT1Q,UARV. 


own my intention was not to blame in this case. I did 
my best to liit Lovel, and, if I bad been successful, ’ii>: 
clear my scrape would have been his, and his scrape 
would have been mine.” 

“ And whom or what do you intend to hit now, that 
you are lugging with you that leathern magazine there, 
marked gunpowder 

“ I must be prepared for Lord Glenallan’s moors on 
the tw'elfth, sir,” said M’Intyre. 

‘ Ah, Hector ! thy great chasse, as the French call it, 
would take place best — 

^ Omne cum Proteus pecus agitaret 
Visere monies’ 

Could you meet but with a martial ^Aoca, instead of an 
un warlike heath-bird.” 

‘‘ The devil take the seal, sir, or phoca, if you choose 
to call it so — it’s rather hard one can never hear the end 
of a little piece of folly like that.” 

“ Well, well,” said Oldbuck, ‘‘ I am glad you have 
the grace to be ashamed of it. As I detest the whole 
race of Nimrods, I wish them all as well matched — Nay, 
never start ofF at a jest, man — I have done with the phoca 
— though, I dare say, the Baillie could tell us the value ol 
seal-skins just now.” 

They are up,” said the magistrate, ‘‘ they are well 
up — the fishing has been unsuccessful lately.” 

“ We can bear witness to that,” said the tormenting 
Antiquary, who was delighted with the hank this incident 
had given him over the young sportsman : “ one word 
more, Hector, and 

* We’ll hang a seal-skin on thy recreant limbs.’ 

Aha mvboy ! — come, never mind it, I must go to business 
— Baillie, a word with you — you must take bail — mode- 
rate bail — you understand — for old Ochiltree’s appear- 
ance.” 

“ You don’t consider what you ask,” said the Baillie 
“ the offence is assault and robbery.” 


4 


THE ANriQ,lrAllY. 


171 


“ Hush ! not a word about it,” said the Antiquary, “ 1 
gave you a hint before — I will possess you more fully 
hereafter — I promise you there is a secret.” 

“ But, Mr. Old buck, if the state is concerned, I, who 
do the wdiole drudgery business here, really have a title 

lo be consulted, and until I am” 

Hush ! hush !” said the Antiquary, winking and 
putting his finger to his nose, — “ you shall have the full 
credit ; the entire management, whenever matters are ripe. 
But this is an obstinate old fellow, who will not hear oi 
two people being as yet let into his mystery, and he has 
not fully acquainted me with the clew lo Dousterswiv- 
el’s devices.” 

“ Aha ! so we must tip that fellow the alien act, I sup- 
pose ?” 

“ To say truth,! wish you would.” 

“ Say no more,” said the magistrate, “ it shall forth- 
with be done ; he shall be removed ianquam suspect — ] 
ihink that’s one of your own phrases, Monkbarns?” 

“ It is classical, Baillie — you improve.” 

“ Why, public business has of late pressed upon me so 
much, that 1 have been obliged to take my foreman into 
partnership. I have had two several correspondences 
with the under Secretaiy of State ; one on the proj)osed 
tax on Riga hemp-seed, and the other on putting down 
j)olitical societies. So you might as well communicate 
to me as much as you know of this old fellow’s discovery 
of a plot against the state.” 

“ 1 will, instantly, when I am master of it,” replied 
Oldbuck — “ I hate the trouble of managing such matters 
myself — remember, however, I did not say decidedly a 
plot against the state ; I only say, I hope lo discover, by 
this man’s means, a foul plot.” 

“ If it be a plot at all, there must be treason in it, or 
sedition at least,” said the Baillie — “ will you bail him for 
four hundred merks ?” 

Four hundred merks for an old Blue-gown ! — Think 
on the act 1701 regulating bail-bonds ! — Strike off a 


172 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


cipher from the sum — I am content to bail him for forty 
merks.” 

“ Well, Mr. Oldbuck, every body in Fairport i? always 
willing to oblige you — and besides, 1 know that you are 
a prudent man, and one that would be as unwilling to 
lose forty as four hundred merks. So I will accept your 
bail — meo periculo — what say you to that law phrase 
again 7 — I had it from a learned counsel. — 1 will vouch it, 
my lord, he said, meo periculo.'*^ 

“ And 1 will vouch for Edie Ochiltree, meo periculo, 
n like manner,” said Oldbuck. “ So let your clerk 
draw out the bail-bond, and 1 will sign it.” 

When this ceremony had been performed, the Antiqua- 
ry communicated to Edie the joyful tidings that he was 
oncG more at liberty, and directed him to make the best 
of his way to Monkbarns-house, to which he himself 
returned with his nephew, after having perfected tl>eir 
good work. 


CHAPTER XVilJ. 

Full of wise saws and modern instances. 

As You Like it. 

“ I wish to Heaven, Hector,” said the Antiquary, next 
morning alter breakfast, “ you would spare our nerves, 
and not be keeping snapping that arquebuss of yours.” 

“ Well, sir, I’m sure I’m sorry to disturb you,” said 
his nephew, still handling his fowling-piece ; “ but it’s a 
capital gun ; it’s a Joe Manton, that cost forty guineas.” 

A fool and his money is soon parted, nephew — there 
is a Joe Miller for your Joe Manton,” answered the An- 
tiquary ; “ 1 am glad you have so many guineas to throw 
away.” 

“ Every one has their fancy, uncle. — you are fond ol 
books.” 

Ay, Hector,” said the uncle, “ and if my collection 
were yours, you would make it fly to the gunsmith, the 


THE ANTIQ.UA11Y. 


173 


borse-market the dog-breaker, — Coemptos undiqve no- 
biles libros — mutare loricis Iberisy 

“ 1 could not use your books, my dear uncle,” said tht 
young soldier, “ that’s true ; and you will do well to prov ide 
for their being in better hands — but don’t let the faults ol 
my head fall on my heart — I would not part with a Cor- 
dery that belonged to an old friend, to get a set of horses 
like Lord Glenallan’s.” 

‘^1 don’t think you would, lad, 1 don’t think you would,” 
^aid his softening relative — “ I love to teaze you a little 
sometimes ; it keeps up ihe spirit of discipline and habit 
of subordination — You will pass your time hapj)ily here 
having me to command you, instead of Captain, or Colo- 
nel, or ‘ Knight in iVrms,’ as Milton has it ; and instead 
of the French,” he continued, relapsing into his ironical 
humour, “ you have the Gens liumida ponti — for, as 
Virgil says, 

‘ Sternunt se somno diverscc in lUtore phoccG,’ 

which might be rendered, 

* Here phocse slumber on the beach, 

Witliin our Highland Hector's reach.’ 

Nay, if you grow angry, I have done.-^ — Besides, I see 
old Edie in the court-yard, with whom I have business. 
Good-by, Hector — Do you remember how she splashed 
into the sea like her master Proteus, et se jactu dedii 
(Equor in altum ?” 

JM’lntyre, — waiting, however, till the door was shut, — 
then gave way to the natural impatience of his temper. 

“ My uncle is the best man in the world, and in his 
way the kindest ; but rather. titan hear any more about 
that cursed phocn, as he is pleased to call it, I would ex- 
change for the West Indies, and never see his face again.” 

M iss M’Intyre, gratefully attached to her uncle, and 
passionately fond of her brother, was, on such occasions, 
the usual envoy of reconciliation. She hastened to meet 
her uncle on his return, before he entered the parlour. 

“ Well, now. Miss Womankind, what is the meaning ol 
that imploring countenance ? — has Juno done any more 
mischief 

VOL. II. 


174 


THE ANTIC^UARY. 


“ No, uncle ; but Juno’s master is in such fear of youi 
joking him about the seal — 1 assure you, he feels it mucli 
more than you would wish — it’s very silly of him to be 
sure ; but then you can turn every body so sharply into 
ridicule” 

“ Well, my dear,” answered Oldbiick, propitiated b; 
the compliment, “ I will rein in my satire, and, if possible, 
speak no more of i\\Q phoca — I will not even speak of seal- 
ing a letter, but say umph, and give a nod to you when I 
want the wax-light — 1 arn not moniioribus asper, but. 
Heaven knows, the most mild, quiet, and easy of human 
beings, whom sister, niece, and nephew, guide just as best 
pleases them.” 

With this little panegyric on his own docility, Mr. Old- 
buck entered the parlour, and proposed to his nephew a 
walk to the Mussel-crag. “ 1 have some questions to 
ask of a woman at Mucklebackit’s cottage,” he observed, 

and 1 would willingly have a sensible witness with me 
— so, for fault of a better. Hector, 1 must be contented 
wdth you.” 

“ There is old Edie, sir, or Caxon — could not they do 
better than me ?” answered M’lntyre, feeling somewhat 
alarmed at the prospect of a long tete-a-tcte with his uncle. 

“ Upon my word, young man, you turn me over to 
pretty companions, and I am quite sensible of your po- 
liteness,” replied Mr. Oldbuck. “ No, sir, 1 intend the 
old Blue-Gown shall go with me — not as a competent 
witness, for he is at present, as our friend Baillie Little- 
john says, (blessings on his learning !) tanqua/n suspectus, 
and you are suspicione major, as our law has it.” 

“ 1 wish I were a Major, sir,” said Hector, catching 
only the last, and, to a soldier’s ear, the most impressive 
word in the sentence, — “ but, without money or interest, 
there is little chance of getting the step.” 

“ Well, ^ell, most doughty son of Priam,” said the An- 
tiquary, “ be ruled by your friends, and there’s no saying 
what may happen — Come away with me, and you shall 
see what may be useful to you should y ou ever sit upon a 
oourt-martial, sir.” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


'75 


I have been on many a regimental court-martialj 
sir,” answered Captain M’Intyre. — “ But here’s a new 
oane for yon.” 

“ Much obliged, much obliged.” 

“ 1 bought it from our drum-major,” added M’Inlyre^ 
‘ who came into our regiment from the Bengal army 
when it came down the Red Sea. It was cut on the 
banks of the Indus, I assure you.” 

“ Upon my word, ’tis a 6ne rattan, and well replaces 
that which the ph — Bah ! what was I going to say .^” 
The party, consisting of the Antiquary, his nephew, 
and the old beggar, now took the sands towards Mussel- 
crag, — the former in the very highest mood of communi- 
cating information, and the others, under a sense of for- 
mer obligation, and some hope for future favours, decently 
attentive to receive it. The uncle and nephew walked 
together, the mendicant about a step and a half behind, 
mst near enough for his patron to speak to him by a slight 
inclination of his neck, and without the trouble of turning 
round. Petrie, in his Essay on Good-breeding, dedicat- 
ed to the magistrates of Edinburgh, recommends, upon 
his own experience, as tutor in a family of distinction, 
this attitude to all led captains, tutors, dependants, and 
bottle-holders of every description. Thus escorted, the 
Antiquary moved along full of his learning, like a lordly 
man of war, and every now and then yawing to starboard 
and larboard to discharge a broad-side upon his followers. 

‘‘ And so it is your opinion,” said he to the mendicant, 
‘‘ that this windfall — this area auri, as Pljfutus has it, will 
not greatly avail Sir Arthur in his necessities 7” 

“ Unless he could find ten times as much,” said the 
beggar, “ and that I am sair doubtful of— I heard Puggie 
Orrock, and the tother thief of a sheriff-officer, or messen- 
ger, speaking about it — and things are ill aff wffien the 
like o’ them can speak crousely about ony gentleman’s 
affairs. T doubt Sir Arthur will be in stane wa’s for debt, 
unless there’s swift help and certain.” 


176 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ You speak like a fool,” said the Antiquary. — Neph- 
ew, it is a remarkable thing, that in this happy country 
no man can be legally imprisoned for debt.” 

“Indeed, sir 9” said M’ Intyre ; “1 never knew that 
before — that part of our law would suit some of our mess 
well.” 

“ And if they arena confined for debt,” said Ochiltree 
“ what is’t that tempts sae mony puir creatures to bide in 
the tolbooth o’ Fairport yonder — they a’ say they were 
put there by their creditors — Odd ! they maun like it 
better than I do if they’re there o’ free will.” 

“ A very natural observation, Edie, and many of youi 
betters would make the same, but it is founded entirely 
upon ignorance of the feudal system. — Hector, be so 
good as to attend, unless you are looking out for another 

Ahem ! (Hector compelled himself to give attention 

at this hint.) — And you, Edie, it may be useful to you, 
rerum cognoscere causas. The nature and origin of war- 
rant for caption is a thing hand aliennm a Sccevolce studiis. 
You must know then once more, that nobody can be ar- 
rested in Scotland for debt.” 

“ I haena muckle concern wi’ that, Monkbarns,” said 
the old man, “ for naebody wad trust a bodle to a gaber- 
lunzie.” 

“ I pr’ythee peace, man — As a compulsitor, therefore 
of payment, — that being a thing to which no debtor is nat- 
urally inclined, as 1 have too much reason to warrant from 
the experience I have had with my own, — we had first tlie 
letters of four forms, a sort of gentle invitation, by which 
our sovereign lord the king, interesting himself as a 
monarch should, in the regulation of his subjects’ private 
affairs, at first by mild exhortation, and afterwards by 
letters of more strict enjoinment and more hard cniv- 

pulsion What do you see extraordinary about that 

bird. Hector? — it’s but a seamaw.” 

“ It’s a pictarnie, sir,” said Edie. 

“ Well, what and if it were — what does that signify at 
present ? — But I see you’re impatient ; so 1 will waive 
the letters of four forms, and come to the modern process 


TIIK ANTiq,UAIir. 


177 


of diligence. — You suppose, now, a man’s committed to 
prison because he cannot pay his debt Quhe otherwise ; 
the truth is, the King is so good as to interfere at the re- 
quest of the creditor, and to send the debtor his royal com- 
mand to do him justice within a certain time — ^fifteen 
days, or six, as the case may be. Well, the man resists 
and disobeys — wbat follows f Why, that he be lawfully 
and rightfully declared a rebel to our gracious sovereign, 
whose command he has disobeyed, and that by three blasts 
of a horn at the market-place of Edinburgh, the metropo- 
lis of Scotland. And he is then legally imprisoned, not 
on account of any civil debt, but because of his ungrate- 
ful contempt of the royal mandate. What say you to that, 
Hector F — there’s something you never knew before.”^ 

“ No, uncle ; but, 1 own, if 1 wanted money to pay my 
debts, 1 would rather tliank the King to send me some, 
than to declare me a rebel for not doing what I could not 
do.” 

“ Your education has not led you to consider these 
things,”, replied his uncle; “ you are incapable of esti- 
mating the elegance of the legal fiction, and the manner 
in which it reconciles that duress, which, for the protec- 
tion of commerce, it has been found necessary to extend 
towards refractory debtors, with the most scrupulous 
attention to the liberty of the subject.” 

“ I don’t know, sir,” answered the unenlightened Hec- 
tor ; “ but if a man must pay his debt or go to jail, it sig- 
nifies but little whether he goes as a debtor or a rebel, I 
should think. But you say this 'command of the King’s 
gives a license of so many days — now, egad, were I in 
the scrape, 1 would beat a march, and leave the King and 
the creditor to settle it among themselves before they 
came to extremities.” 

“ So wad 1,” said Edie ; ‘‘ I wad gie them leg-bail to 
a certainty.” 

“ True,” replied Monkbarns ; “ but those whom the 
law suspects of being unwilling to abide her formal visit, 
she proceeds with by means of a shorter and more un- 
ceremonious call, as dealing with persons on whom pa- 
tience and favour would be utterly thrown away.” 


!78 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


“ A) said Ochiltree, “ that will be wliat they ca' the 
fiigie-warrants — I hae some skeel in them. There’s Bor- 
der-warrants too in the south country, unco rash uncanny 
things — I was ta’en up on ane at Saint James’s Fair, and 
keepit in the auld kirk at Kelso the haill day and night ; 
and a cauld goustie place it was, I’se assure ye. — But 
whaina wdfe’s this, wi’ her creel on her back — It’s puir 
Maggie hersell, I’m thinking.” 

It was so. The poor woman’s sense of her loss, if not 
diminished, was become at least mitigated by the inevita- 
ble necessity of attending to the means of supporting her 
fiimily, and her salutation to Oldbuck was made in an 
odd mixture, between the usual language of solicitation 
with which she plied her customers, and the tone of lam- 
entation for her recent calamity. 

“ How’s a’ wi’ ye the day, Monkbarns 9 — I havena 
had the grace yet to come down to thank your honour for 
the credit ye did puir Steenie, wi’ laying his head in a 
rath grave, puir fallow.” — Here she whimpered and wiped 
her eyes with the corner of her blue apron. — “ But the 
fishing comes on no that ill, though the gudeman hasna 
had the heart to gang to sea himsell — Atweel 1 wad fain 
tell him it w_ad do him gude to put hand to wark — but 
I’m maist feared to speak to him — and it’s an unco thing 
to hear ane o’ us speak that gate o’ a man — however, I 
bae some dainty caller baddies, and they sail be but three 
shillings the dozen, for I hae nae pith to drive a bargain 
e’enow, and maun just take what ony Christian body will 
gie, wd’ few words and nae flyting.” 

“ What shall we do, Hector .^” said Oldbuck, pausing ; 
“ I got into disgrace with my womankind for making a 
bad bargain with her before. These maritime animals. 
Hector, are unlucky to our family.” 

“ Pooh, sir, what would you do 9 — give poor IM aggie 
what she asks, or allow me to send a dish of fish up to 
Monkbarns.” 

And he held out the money to her ; but Maggie drew 
back her hand. “ Na, na. Captain ; ye’re ower young 
and ower free o’ your siller — ye should never take a fish- 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


J7G 


wife’s first bode ; and troth I think maybe a flyte wi’ the 
anld housekeeper at Monkbarns, or Miss Grizel, would 
do me some gude — And I want to see what that hellicate 
quean Jenny Rintherout’s doing — folk said, she wasna 
weel— She’ll be vexing hersell about Steenie, the silly 
tail pie, as if he wad ever hae lookit ower his shouther 
at the like o’ her ! — Weel, Monkbarns, they’re braw cal- 
ler baddies, and they’ll bid me unco little indeed at the 
house if ye want crappit-heads the day.” 

And so on she paced with her burden, grief, gratitude for 
the sympathy of her betters, and the habitual love of traf- 
fick and of gain, chasing each other through her thoughts. 

And now that we are before the door of their hut,” 
said Ochiltree, I wad fain ken, Monkbarns, what has 
gar’d ye plague yoursell wi’ me a’ this length 9 I tell ye 
sincerely I hae nae pleasure in ganging in there. 1 
downabide to think how the young hae fa’en on a’ sides 
o’ me, and left me an useless auld stump wi’ hardly a 
green leaf on’t.” 

“'^This old woman,” said Oldbuck, “ sent you on a 
message to the Earl of Glenallan, did she not 7” 

“ Ay !” said the surprised mendicant, “ how ken ye 
that sae weel 9” 

“ Lord Glenallan told me himself,” answered the An- 
tiquary ; “ so there is no delation — no breach of trust on 
your part — and as he wishes me to take her evidence 
down on some important family matters, I chose to bring 
you with me, because in her situation, hovering between 
dotage and consciousness, it is possible that your voice 
and appearance may awaken trains of recollection which 
I should otherwise have no meins of exciting. The hu- 
man mind — what are you about. Hector ?’■ 

‘‘ I was only whistling for the do*g, sir,” replied the 
Captain ; “ she always roves too wide — I knew 1 should 
be troublesome to you.” 

Not at all, not at all,” said Oldbuck, resuming the 
subject of his disquisition — The human mind is to be 
treated like a skein of ravelled silk, where you must cau- 
tiously secure one free end before you can make any 
progress in disentangling it.” 

10 


ISO 


THE ANTKtUAEY. 


“ I ken naething about that,” said the gaberlunzie , 
“ but an my auld acquaintance be hersell, or ony thing 
like hersell, she may come to wind us a pirn. It’s fear- 
some baith to see and hear her when she wampishes about 
her arms, and gets to her English, and speaks as if she 
were a prent book, — let a-be an auld fisher’s wife. But, 
indeed, she had a grand education, and was muckle ta’eu 
out afore she married an unco bit beneath hersell. She’s 
aulder than me by half a score years — but I mind weel 
eneugh they made as muckle wark about her making a 
half-merk marriage wi’ Simon Mucklebackit, this Saun- 
der’s father, as if she had been ane o’ the gentry. But 
she got into favour again, and then she lost it again, as 1 
hae heard her son say, when he was a muckle ehield ; 
and then they got muckle siller, and left the Countess’s 
land and settled here. But things never throve wd’ them. 
Howsomever, she’s a weel-educate woman, and an she 
win to her English, as I hae heard her do at an orra time, 
she may come to fickle us a’.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Life ebbs from such o)d age, unmark'd and silent. 

As the slow neap-tide leaves yon slramled galley. — 

Late she rock’d merrily at llie least impulse 
That wind or wave could give ; but now her keel 
Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta’en 
An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. 

Each wave receding shakes her less and less. 

Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain 
Useless as motionless. 

Old Plaij, 

As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he w^as 
surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of Elspeth 
chanting forth an old ballad in a wild and doleful recita- 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


i81 


“ The herring loves the merry moon- lights 
I’he mackarel loves the wind, 

But the oyster loves the dredging sang, 

For they come of a gentle kind/' 

A diligent collector of these legendary scraps of an- 
c ent poetry, his foot refused to cross the threshold when 
his ear was thus arrested, and his hand instinctively took 
pencil and memorandum-book. From time to time the 
old woman spoke as if to the children — “ O ay, hinnies, 
whisht, whisht ! and I’ll begin a bonnier ane than that — 


Now baud your tongue, baiih wife and carle. 

And listen great and sma', 

And I w'ill sing of Glenallan’s Earl 
That fought on the red Harlaw. 

The cronach’s cried on Bennachie, 

And doun the Don and a’, 

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be 
For the sair field of Harlaw. 

I dinna mind the neist verse weel — my memory’s failed, 
and there’s unco thoughts come ower me — God keep us 
frae temptation !” 

Here her voice sunk in indistinct muttering. 

It’s a historical ballad,” said Oldbuck eagerly, “ a 
genuine and undoubted fragment of minstrelsy ! — Percy 
would admire its -simplicity — Ritson could not impugn its 
authenticity.” 

‘‘ Ay, but it’s' a sad thing,” said Ochiltree, “ to seo 
human nature sae far owerta’en as to be skirling at auld 
sangs on the back of a loss like her’s.” 

“ Hush, hush !” said the Antiquary — “ she has gotten 
the thread of the story again.” And as he spoke, she 
sung : 

“ They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, 

They hae bridled a hundred black. 

With a chafron of steel on each horse’s head, 

And a good knight upon his back." 

VOL. II. 


182 


THE ANTKiUART^ 


“ Chafron !” exclaimed the Antiquary — equivalent, 
perhaps, to cheveron — the word’s worth a dollar,” — and 
down it went in his red book. 

" They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 

A mile, but barely ten, 

When Donald came branking down the brae 
Wi' twenty thousand men. 

“ Their tartans they w ere waving wide, 

Their glaives were glancing clear, 

The pibrochs rung frae side to side. 

Would deafen ye to hear. 

" The great Earl in his stirrups stood • 

That Highland host to see : 

* Now here a knight that’s stout and good 
May prove a jeopardie : 

" * What would’st thou do, my squire so gay. 

That rides beside my reyn. 

Were ye Glenallan’s Earl the day. 

And I were Roland Cheyne ? 

“ * To turn the rein were sin and shame, 

To fight were w'ond’rous peril. 

What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, 

Were ye Glenallan’s Earl V ” ^ 

“Ye maun ken, hinnies, that this Roland Cheyne, 
for as poor and auld as I sit in the chimney-neuk, was my 
forbear, and an awfu’ man he was that day in the fight, 
but especially after the Earl had fa’en ; for he blamed 
himsell for the counsel he gave, to fight before Mar came 
up wi’ Mearns, and Aberdeen, and Angus.” 

Her voice rose and became more animated as she re- 
cited the warlike counsel of her ancestor : 

“ ‘ Were T Glenallan’s Earl thi% tide. 

And ye w'ere Roland Cheyne, 

The spur should be in my horse’s side. 

And the bridle upon his mane. 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


183 


‘ If they hae twenty thousand blades, 

And we twice ten limes ten, 

Yet they hae but their tartan plaids. 

And we are mail-clad men, 

“ * My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, 
As through the moorland fern. 

Then ne’er let the gentle Norman blude 
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.’ ” 


Do you hear that, nephew*?” said Oldbuck ; “ you 
observe your Gaelic ancestors were not held in high re- 
pute formerly by the Lowland warriors.” 

“ I hear,” said Hector, “ a silly old woman sing a silly 
old song. I am surprised, sir, that you, who will not 
listen to Ossian’s songs of Selma, can be pleased with 
such trash ; I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse 
halfpenny ballad ; I don’t believe you could match it in 
any pedlar’s pack in the country. I should be ashamed 
to think that the honour of the highlands could be affect- 
ed by such doggrel.” — ^And, tossing up his head he snuff- 
ed the air indignantly. 

Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their 
voices ; for, ceasing her song, she called out, “ Come 
in, sirs, come in — good-will never halted at the door- 
stane.” 

They entered, and found to their surprise Elspeth 
alone, sitting “ ghastly on the hearth,” like the personifi- 
cation of Old Age in the Hunter’s song of the Owl,* 

wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discoloured, torpid.” 

‘‘ They’re a’ out,” she said, as they entered ; “ but, 
an ye will sit a blink, somebody will be in. If ye hae 
business wi’ my gude-daughter, or my son, they’ll be in 
belive, — I never speak on business mysell. — Bairns, gie 
them seats — the bairns are a’ gane out, I trow,”— ^looking 
around her, — “ I was crooning to keep them quiet a wee 
while since ; but they hae cruppin out some gate — Sit 
down, sirs, they’ll be in belive and she dismissed her 


* See Mrs. Grant on the Highland Superstitions, vol. ii. p. 260, for this fine 
translation from the Gaelic 


184 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


spindle from her hand to twirl upon the floor, and soon 
seemed exclusively occupied in regulating its motion, as 
unconscious of the presence of the strangers as she ap- 
peared indifferent to their rank or business there. 

I wish,” said Oldbuck, ‘‘ she would resume that 
canticle, or legendary fragment — I always suspected there 
was a skirmish of cavalry before the main battle of the 

Harlaw.”8 

“ If your honour pleases,” said Edie, “ had ye not 
^better proceed to the business that brought us a’ here t 
I’se engage to get ye the sang ony time.” 

“ I believe you are right, Edie — Do manus — I submit. 
Bui how shall we manage ? She sits there, the very image 
of dotage — speak to her, Edie — try if you can make her 
recollect having sent you to Glenallan-house.” 

Edie rose accordingly, and, crossing the floor, placed 
himself in the same position which he had occupied during 
his former conversation with her. “ I’m fain to see ye 
looking sae weel, cummer ; the mair, that the black ox 
htis tramped on ye since I was aneath your roof-tree.” 

“ Ay,” said Elspeth ; but rather from a general idea 
of misfortune, than any exact recollection of what had 
happened, — “ there has been distress amang us of late — 
I wonder how younger folk bide it — I bide it ill — I canna 
hear the wind whistle, and the sea roar, but I think I see 
the coble whomled keel up, and some o’ them struggling 
in the waves ! — Eh, sirs, sic weary dreams as folk hae 
between sleeping and waking, before they win to the lang 
sleep and the sound ! — I could amaist think whiles, my 
son, or else Steenie, my oe, was dead, and that I had seen 
the burial. Isna that a queer dream for a daft auld car- 
line 9 what for should ony o’ them dee before me — it’s 
out o’ the course o’ nature, ye ken.” 

“ I think you’ll make very little of this stupid old 
woman,” said Hector ; who still nourished, perhaps, 
some feelings of the dislike excited by the disparaging 
mention of his countrymen in her lay — “ I think you’ll 
make but little of her, sir ; and it’s wasting our time to 
sit here and listen to her dotage.” 


THE ANTIQ,UATIY. 


185 


Hector,” said the Antiquary indignantly, if you 
do not respect her misfortunes, respect at least her old 
age and grey hairs, — this is the last stage of existence 
so finely treated by the Latin poet : 

‘ Omni 

Membrorum damno major dementia, quse nec 
Nomina servorum, nec vullus agnoecit amioi. 

Cum queis preterita coeuavit nocte, nec illos 
Quos genuit, quos eduxit.’ 

“ That’s Latin!” said Elspeth, rousing herself as if she 
attended to the lines which the Antiquary recited with 
great pomp of diction — “ That’s Latin!” and she cast a 
wild glance around her-^“ Has there a priest fund me 
out at last 9” 

“ You see, nephew, her comprehension is almost equal 
to your own of that fine passage.” 

“ I hope you think, sir, that I knew it to be Latin as 
well as she did 9” 

“ Why, as to that but stay, she is about to speak.” 

“ I will have no priest — none,” said the beldame, with 
impotent vehemence — “ as 1 have lived I will die — none 
shall say that I Betrayed my mistress, though it were to 
save my soul !” 

“ That bespoke a foul conscience,” said the mendi- 
cant ; “ I wuss she wad mak a clean breast, an it were 
but for her ain sake,” and he again assailed her. 

“ Weel, gudewife, I did your errand to the Yerl.” 

“ To what Earl ^ I ken nae Earl — I kend a Count- 
ess ance — I wish to heaven I had never kend her ! foi 
by that acquaintance, neighbour, there cam, ’’--and she 
counted her withered fingers as she spoke — “ first pride, 
then malice, then revenge, then false witness ; and mur- 
der tirl’d at the door-pin, if he camna ben — And werena 
thae pleasant guests, think ye, to take up their quarters in 
tie woman’s heart ? I trow there was routh o’ company.” 

“ But, cummer,” continued the beggar, it wasna the 
Countess of Glenallan I meant, but her son, him that was 
Lord Gcraldin.” 


VOL II. 


186 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ I mind it now,” she said ; “ I saw him no that lang 
syne, and we had a heavy speech thegither. — Eh, sirs, 
the comely young lord is turned as auld and frail as 1 am 
— it’s muckle that sorrow and heart-break, and crossing 
of true love, will do wi’ young blood — But suldna his 
mither hae lookit to that hersell 9 — We were but to do 
her bidifing, ye ken — I am sure there’s naebody can 

blame n e — he wasna my son, and she was my mistress 

Ye ken ,iow the rhyme says — I hae maist forgotten how 
to sing, or else the tune’s left my auld head : 

‘ He turn’d him right and round again, 

Said, Scorn na at my mither ; 

Light loves I may get mony a ane, 

But minnie ne’er anitber.’ 

Then he was but of the half blude, ye ken, and her’s was 
the right Glenallan after a’. Na, na, I maun never maen 
doing and suffering for the Countess Joscelin. Never 
will I maen for that.” 

Then drawing her flax from the distaff, with the dogged 
air of one who is resolved to confess nothing, she resumed 
her interrupted occupation. 

“ I hae heard,” said the mendicant, taking his cue 
from what Old buck had told him of the family history, 

‘ “ I hae heard, cummer, that some ill tongue suld hae 

come between the Earl, that’s Lord Geraldin, and his 
young bride.” 

‘‘ 111 tongue 9” she said in hasty alarm ; “ and what 
had she to fear frae an ill tongue 9 — she was gude and 
fair eneugh — at least a’ body said sae — But had she 
keejiit her ain tongue aff ither folk, she might hae been 
living like a leddy for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” 

But 1 hae heard say, gudewife,” continued Ochil- 
tree, “ there was a clatter in the country, that her hus- 
band and her were ower sibb when they married.” 

“ Wha durst speak o’ that ?” said the old woman 
hastily ; “ Wha durst say they were married ^ — WJia 
kend o’ that ? — not the Countess — not I — if they wed- 


THE ANTK^UAllY. 


187 


cied in secret they were severed in secret — They drank 
of the fountains of their ain deceit.” 

“ No, wretched beldame,” exclaimed Oldbuck, who 
could keep silence no longer, “ they drank tlie poison 
that you and your wicked mistress prepared for them.” 

“ Ha, ha !” she replied, “ I aye thought it would come 
to this — it’s but sitting silent when they examine me — 
there’s nae torture in our days — and if there is, let them 
rend me ! — It’s ill o’ the vassal’s mouth that betrays the 
bread it eats.” 

‘‘ Speak to her, Edie,” said the Antiquary, “ she 
knows your voice, and answers to it most readily.” 

“We shall maknaething mair onto’ her,” said Ochil- 
tree. “ When she has clinkit hersell down that way, and 
faulded her arms, she winna speak a word, they say, for 
weeks thegither. And besides, to my thinking, her face 
is sair changed since we cam in. However, I’se try her 
ance mair to satisfy your honour. — So ye canna keep in 
mind, cummer, that your auld mistress, the Countess 
Joscelin, has been removed 9” 

“ Removed !” she exclaimed ; for that name never 
failed to produce its usual effect upon her ; “ then we 
maun a’ follow. A’ maun ride when she is in the saddle 
— tell them to let Lord Geraldin ken we’re on before 
them — bring my hood and scarf — ye wadna hae me gang 
in the carriage wi’ my leddy, and my hair in this fashion?” 

She raised her shrivelled arms, and seemed busied like 
a woman who puts on her cloak to go abroad, then drop- 
ped them slowly and stiffly ; and the same idea of a 
iourney still floating apparently through her head, she 
proceeded in a hurried and interrupted manner, — “ Call 
Miss Neville — What do you mean by Lady Geraldin f 
I said Eveline Neville — not Lady Geraldin — them’s no 
Lady Geraldin — tell her that, and bid her change her wet 
gown, and no’ look sae pale. Bairn ! what should she 
do wi’ a bairn ? — maidens hae nane, I trow. Teresa — - 

Teresa — my lady calls us ! Bring a candle, the 

grand staircase is as mirk as a Yule midnight — We are 


18 B 


THE ANTlQ,UAUy. 


coming, my lady !” With these words she sunk back on 
Ihe settle, and from thence sidelong to the floor 

Edie ran to support her, but hardly got her in his 
arms, before he said, “ It’s a’ ower, she has passed away 
even with that last word.” 

“ Impossible,” said Oldbuck, hastily advanc'ng, as 
did his nephew. But nothing was more certain. She 
had expired with the last hurried word that left her lips ; 
and all that remained before them, were the mortal re- 
liques of the creature who had so long struggled with an 
internal sense of concealed guilt, joined to all the distress- 
es of age and poverty. 

“ God grant that she be gane to a better place!” said 
Edie, as he looked on the lifeless body ; ‘‘ but, oh ! there 
was something lying hard and heavy at her heart. I 
have seen mony a anedee, baith in the field o’ battle, and 
a fair-strae death at hame, but I wad rather see them a’ 
ower again, as sic a fearfu’ flitting as her’s !” 

“ We must call in the neighbours,” said Oldbuck, when 
he had somewhat recovered his horror and astonishment, 
“ and give warning of this additional calamity — I wish she 
could have been brought to a confession. And, though 
of far less consequence, I could have wished to transcribe 
that metrical fragment. But Heaven’s will must be 
done !” 

They left the hut accordingly, and gave the alarm in 
the hamlet, whose matrons instantly assembled to compose 
the limbs and arrange the body of her who might be con- 
sidered as the mother of their settlement. Oldbuck 
promised his assistance for the funeral. 

“ Your honour,” said Ailison Breck, who was next in 
age to the deceased, “ suld send doun something to us 
for keeping up our hearts at the lyke-wake, for a’ Saun- 
ders’s gin, puir man,was drucken out atthebuiialo Steenie, 
and we’ll no get mony to sit dry-lipped aside the corpse. 
Elspeth was unco clever in her young days, as I can mind 
right weel, but there was aye a word o’ her no being that 
chancy — Ane suldna speak ill o’ the dead — mair by token, 
o’ ane’s cummer and neighbour — but there was queer 


THE ANTIQ,UAUY. 


J89 


things said about a leddy and a bairn or she left the Craig 
burnfoot. And sae, in gude troth, it will be a puir lyke-^ 
wake, unless your honour sends us something to keep us 
cracking.” 

“ You shall have some whisky,” answered Oldbuck, 
“ the rather that you have preserved the proper word for 
that ancient custom of watching the dead. You obseive, 
Hector, this is genuine Teutonic, from the Gothic Leich- 
nam, a corpse. It is quite erroneously called Late-wake, 
though Brand favours that modern corruption and deri- 
vation.” 

“ I believe,” said Hector to himself, ‘‘ my uncle would 
give away Monkbarns to any one who would come to ask 
It in genuine Teutonic! Not a drop of whisky would the 
old creatures have got, had their president asked it for the 
use of the Late-wake,^^ 

While Oldbuck was giving some farther directions, and 
promising assistance, a servantofSir Arthur’scame riding 
very hard along the sands, and stopped his horse when 
he saw the Antiquary. “ There had something,” he said, 
“ very particular happened at the Castle,” (he could not, 
or would not, explain what,) “ and Miss Wardour had sent 
him off express to Monkbarns, to beg that Mr. Oldbuck 
would come to them without a moment’s delay.” 

‘‘ I am afraid,” said the Antiquary, “ his course also is 
drawing to a close — What can 1 do .^” 

“ Do, sir exclaimed Hector, with his characteristic 
impatience, — “ get on the horse, and turn his head home- 
ward — you will be at Knockwinnock Castle in ten min- 
utes.” 

“ He is quite a free goer,” said the servant, dismount- 
ing to adjust the girths and stirrups, — “ he only pulls a 
little if he feels a dead weight on him.” 

“ I should soon be a dead weight oj^him, my friend,” 
said the Antiquary. “ What the devil, nephew, are you 
weary of me ? or do you suppose me weary of my life, 
lhat I should get on the back of such a Bucephalus as 
that 9 No, no, my friend, if I am to be at Knockwinnock 
to-day, it must be by walking quietly forward on mv own 


190 


THE ANTIQ,UA11Y. 


feet, which 1 will do with as little delay as possible. 
Captain M’Intyre may ride that animal himself, if he 
pleases.” 

“ I have little hope I could be of any use, uncle, but I 
cannot think of their distress without wishing to show 
sympathy at least — so 1 will ride on before, and announce 
to them that you are coming. — I’ll trouble you for your 
spurs, my friend.” 

“ You will scarce need them, sir,” said the man, taking 
them off at the same time, and buckling them upon Cap- 
tain M’Intyre’s heels, “ he’s very frank to the road.” 

Oldbuck stood astonished at this last act of temerity. 

Are you mad. Hector *?” he cried “ or have you for- 
gotten what is said by Quintus Curtius, with whom, as a 
soldier, you must needs be familiar, JYobilis equus umbra 
quidem virgce regitur ; ignavus ne calcari quidem. excitari 
potest^ which plainly shows that spurs are useless in every 
case, and,! may add, dangerous in most ?’ 

But Hector, who cared little for the opinion of either 
Quintus Curtius, or of the Antiquary, upon such a topic, 
only answered with a heedless “ Never fear, never fear, 
sir.” 

With that he gave his able horse the head. 

And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor jade, 

Up to the rowel-head ; and starting so. 

He seemed in running to devour the way, 

Staying no longer question.” 

“ There they go, well matched,” said Oldbuck, look- 
ing after them as they started, — “ a mad horse and a wild 
hoy, the two most unruly creatures in Christendom ! and 
all to get half an hour sooner to a place where nobody 
wants him ; for I doubt Sir Arthur’s griefs are beyond 
the cure of our light horseman. It must be the villany 
of Dousterswivel, for whom Sir Arthur has done so 
much ; for I cannot help observing, that, with some na- 
tures, Tacitus’s maxim holdeth good : Benejicia eo usque 
Iceta sunt dum videntur exsolvi posse ; ubi multum ante- 
venere, pro gratia odium redditur — from which a wise 


THE ANTKtUARY. 


\9l 

man might take a caution, not to oblige any man beyond 
the degree in which he may expect to be requited, lest 
he should make his debtor a bankrupt in gratitude.” 

Murmuring to himself such scraps of cynical philoso- 
phy, our Antiquary paced the sands towards Knockwin- 
nock ; but it is necessary we should outstrip him, for the 
purpose of explaining the reasons of his being so anxious- 
ly summoned thither. 


CHAPTER XX. 

So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, 

Incumbent, brooded o’er her eggs of gold, 

With hand outstretch’d, impatient to destroy, 

Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, 

Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, 

— For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. 

Tlie Loves of the Sca-tceeds. 

Fro?4 the time that Sir Arthur Wardour had become 
possessor of the treasure found in Misticot’s grave, he had 
been in a state of mind more resembling ecstasy than 
sober sense. Indeed, at one time his daughter had be- 
come seriously apprehensive for his intellects ; for, as he 
had no doubt that he had the secret of possessing himself 
of wealth to an unbounded extent, his language and car- 
riage were those of a man who had acquired the philoso- 
plier’s stone. He talked of buying contiguous estates, that 
would have led him from one side of the island to the 
other, as if he were determined to brook no neighbour, 
save the sea. He corresponded with an architect of emi- 
nence ipon a plan of renovating the castle of his fore- 
fathers, on a style of extended magnificence that might 
have rivalled that of Windsor, and laying out the grounds 
on a suitable scale. Troops of liveried menials were 
already, in fancy, marshalled in his halls, and--forwhat 


192 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


may not unbounded wealth authorize its possessor to aspire 
to — the coronet of a marquis, perhaps of a duke, was 
glittering before his imagination. His daughter — to what 
matches might she not look forward Even an alliance 
with the blood-royal was not beyond the sphere of his 
hopes. His son was already a general — and he himself 
whatever ambition could dream of in its wildest visions. 

In this mood, if any one endeavoured to bring Sir Ar- 
thur down to the regions of common life, his replies were 
in the vein of Ancient Pistol : 

‘‘ A fico for the world, and worldlings base ! 

I speak of Africa and golden joys 

The reader may conceive the amazement of Miss 
Wardour, when, instead of undergoing an investigation 
concerning the addresses of Lovel, as she had expected 
from the long conference of her father with Mr. Oldburk, 
upon the morning of the fated day when the treasure was 
discovered, the conversation of Sir Arthur announced an 
imagination heated with the hope2 of possessing the most 
unbounded wealth. But she was seriously alarmed when 
Dousterswivel was sent for to the castle, and w^as closet- 
ed with her father — his mishap condoled with — his part 
taken, and his loss compensated. All the suspicions 
which she had long entertained respecting this man be- 
came strengthened, by observing his pains to keep up the 
golden dreams of her father, and to secure for himself, 
under various pretexts, as much as possible out of the 
windfall which had so strangely fallen to Sir Arthur’s 
share. 

Other evd symptoms began to appear, following close 
on each other. Letters arrived every post, which Sir 
Arthur, as soon as he had looked at the directions, flung 
into the fire without taking the trouble to open them. 
Miss Wardour could not help suspecting that these epis- 
tles, the contents of which seemed to be known to her 
father by a sort of intuition, came from pressing creditors. 
Ill the meanwhile, the temporary aid vvhich he had re- 
ceived from the treasure, dwindled fast away. By fai 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


193 


ihe greater part had been swallowed up by the necessity 
of paying the bill of six hundred pounds, which had 
threatened Sir Arthur with instant distress. Of the rest, 
some part was given to the adept, some wasted upon ex- 
travagances which seemed to the poor knight fully author- 
ized by his full-blown hopes, — and some went to stop for 
a time the mouths of such claimants, who, being weary of 
fair promises, had become of opinion with Harpagon, that 
it was necessary to touch something substantial. At 
length circumstances announced but too plainly, that it was 
all expended within two or three days after its discovery, 
and there appeared no prospect of a supply. Sir Arthur, 
naturally impatient, now taxed Dousterswivel anew with 
breach of those promises, through which he had hoped to 
convert all his lead into gold. But that worthy gentleman’s 
turn was now served ; and as he had grace enough to 
wish to avoid witnessing the fall of the house which he had 
undermined, he was at the trouble of bestowing a few 
learned terms of art upon Sir Arthur, that at least he 
migh not be tormented before his time. He took leave 
of him, with assurances that he would return to Knock- 
winnock the next morning, with such information as would 
not fail to relieve Sir Arthur from all his distresses. 

“ For, since I have consulted in such matters, I ave 
never,” said’ Mr. Herman Dousterswivel, “ approached 
so near de arcanum, what you call de great mystery, — de 
Panchresta — de Polychr^sta — I do know as much of it as 
Pelaso de Taranta, or Basilius — and either I will bring 
you in two and tree days the No. II. of Mr. Mishdigoat, 
or you shall call me one knave myself, and never look me 
in de face again no more at all.” 

The adept departed with this assurance, in the firm 
resolution of making- good the latter part of the proposi- 
tion, and never again appearing before his injured patron. 
Sir Arthur remained in a doubtful and anxious state of 
mind. The positive assurances of the philosopher, with 
the hard words Panchresta, Basilius, and so forth, pro- 
duced some effect on his mind. But he had been toe 

VOL. II. 


194 


THE ANTIQ,UAUY. 


oflen deluded by such jargon to be absolutely relieved ol 
his doubt, and he retired for the evening into his library, 
in the fearful state of one who, hanging over a precipice, 
and without the means of retreat, perceives the stone on 
which he rests gradually parting from the rest of the crag, 
and about to give way with him. 

The visions of hope decayed, and there increased in 
proportion that feverish agony of anticipation with which 
a man, educated in a sense of consequence, and possess- 
ed of opulence, — the supporter of an ancient name,and the 
father of two promising children, — foresaw the hour ap- 
proaching which should deprive him of all the splendour 
which time had made familiarly necessary to him, and 
send him forth into the world to struggle with poverty, 
wdth rapacity, and with scorn. Under these dire fore- 
bodings, his temper, exhausted by the sickness of delay- 
ed hope, became peevish and fretful, and his words and 
actions sometimes expressed a reckless desperation, which 
alarmed Miss Wardour extremely. We have seen, on a 
former occasion, that Sir Arthur was a man of passions 
lively and quick, in proportion to the weakness of his 
character in other respects ; he was unused to contradic- 
tion, and if he had been hitherto, in general, good- 
humoured and cheerful, it was probably because the 
course of his life had afforded no such frequent provo- 
cation as to render his irritability habitual. 

On the third morning after Dousterswivel’s departure, 
the servant, as usual, laid on the breakfast table the 
newspaper and letters of the day. Miss Wardour took 
up the former to avoid the continued ill-humour of her 
father, wdio had wrought himself into a violent passion, 
because the toast was over-browmed. 

“ I perceive how it is,” was his concluding speech on 
this interesting subject, — my servants, who have had 
their share of my fortune, begin to think there is little 
to be made of me in future. But while I am the scoun- 
drels’ master I will be so, and permit no neglect — no, nor 
endure a hair’s-breadth diminution of the respect I am 
entitled to exact from them." 


the ANT1Q,UART. 


195 


** 1 am ready to leave your honours service this in- 
btant,” said the domestic upon whom the fault had been 
charged, “ as soon as you order payment of my wages.” 

Sir Arthur, as if stung by a serpent, thrust his hand 
into his pocket, and instantly drew out the money which 
it contained, but which was short of the man’s claim. 
“ What money have you got, Miss Wardour 9” he said, 
in a tone of affected calmness, but which concealed vio- 
lent agitation. 

Miss W ardour gave him her purse ; he attempted to 
count the bank notes which it contained, but could not 
reckon them. After twice miscounting the sum, he threw 
the whole to his daughter, and saying in a stern voice, 
“ Pay the rascal, and let him leave the house instantly I” 
he strode out of the room. 

The mistress and servant stood alike astonished at the 
agitation and vehemence of his manner. 

“ I am sure, ma’am, if I had thought I was particularly 
wrang, I wadna hae made ony answer when Sir Arthur 
challenged me — I hae been lang in his service, and he 
has been a kind master, and you a kind mistress, and 1 
wad like ill ye should think I wad start for a hasty woid 
— I am sure it was very wrang o’ me to speak about 
wages to his honour, when maybe he has something to vex 
him. I had nae thoughts o’ leaving the family in this way.” 

“ Go down stairs, Robert,” said his mistress — “ some- 
thing has happened to fret my father — go down stairs, and 
let Alick answer the bell.” 

When the man left the room. Sir Arthur re-entered, 
as if he had been watching his departure. “What’s the 
meaning of this he said hastily, as he observed the 
notes lying still on the table — “ Is he not gone 9 Am I 
neither to be obeyed as a master or a father 9” 

“ He is gone to give up his charge to the housekeeper, 
sir, — I thought there was not such instant haste.” 

“ There is haste. Miss Wardour,” answered her father, 
'nterrupting her ; — “ What I do henceforth in the house 
&f ni) forefathers, must be done speedily, or never.” 


196 


THE ANTK^UAKY. 


He then sat down, and took up with a trembling hano 
[lie basin of tea prepared for him, protracting the swal- 
lowing of it, as if to delay the necessity of opening the 
post-letters which lay on the table, and which he eyed 
from time to time, as if they had been a nest of adders 
ready to start into life and spring upon him. 

“ You will be happy to hear,” said Miss Wardour, 
willing to withdraw her father’s mind from the gloomy re^ 
(lections in which he appeared to be plunged, “ you will 
ice happy to hear, sir, that Lieutenant TafFril’s gun-brig 
has got safe into Leith Roads — I observe there had been 
apprehensions for his safety — I am glad we did not hear 
liiem till they were contradicted.” 

“ And what is TafFril and his gun-brig to me 9” 

“ Sir !” said Miss Wardour in astonishment ; for Sir 
A^rthur, in his ordinary state of mind, took a fidgetty sort 
of interest in all the gossip of the day and country. 

“ 1 say,” he repeated, in a higher and still more impa- 
tient key, “ what do I care who is saved or lost 9 — it’s 
nothing to me, 1 suppose 

“ I did not know you were busy. Sir Arthur ; and 
thought, as Mr. TafFril is a brave man, and from our own 
country, you would be happy to hear” 

‘*0, I am happy — as happy as possible — and^o make 
you happy too, you shall have some of my good news in 
return.” And he caught up a letter. “ It does not sig- 
nify which I open first — they are all to the same tune.” 

He broke the seal hastily, run the letter over, and then 
threw it to his daughter — “ Ay ; I could not have lighted 
more happily ! — this places the cope-stone.” 

Miss Wardour, in silent terror, took up the letter 

“ Read it Read it aloud !” said her father ; “ it cannot 

be read too often ; it will serve to break you in for other 
good news of the same kind.” 

She began to read with a faltering voice, “ Dear Sir.’ 

“ He dears me too, you see — this impudent drudge ol 
a writer’s office, who, a twelvemonth since, was not fit 
company for my second table — 1 suppose I sliall be Dear 
Knight with him by and by.” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


197 


“ Dear Sir,” resumed Miss Wardour; but, interrupt- 
ing herself, “ 1 see the contents are unpleasant, sir — it 
will only vex you my reading them aloud.” 

“ If you will allow me to know my own pleasure. Miss 
Wardour, I entreat you to go on — 1 presume, if it were 
unnecessary, I should not ask you to take the trouble.” 

“ Having been of late taken into copartnery,” contin- 
ued Miss Wardour, reading the letter, “ by Mr. Gilbert 
Greenhorn, son of your late correspondent and man of 
business, Girnigo Greenhorn, Esq. writer to the signet, 
whose business I conducted as parliament-house clerk 
for many years, which business will in future be carried 
on under the firm of Greenhorn and Grinderson, (which 1 
memorandum for the sake of accuracy in addressing 
your future letters,) and having had of late favours of 
yours, directed to my aforesaid partner, Gilbert Green- 
horn, in consequence of his absence at the Lamberton 
races, have the honour to reply to your said favours.” 

“ You see my friend is methodical, and commences 
by explaining the causes which have procured me so 
modest and elegant a correspondent — Go on — I can bear 
it.” 

And he laughed that bitter laugh which is perhaps the 
most fearful expression of mental misery. Trembling to 
proceed, and yet afraid to disobey. Miss Wardour contin- 
ued to read : “ I am, for myself and partner, sorry we 
cannot oblige you by looking out for the sums you men- 
tion, or applying for a suspension in the case of Goldie- 
bird’s bond, which would be more inconsistent, as we 
have been employed to act as the said Goldiebird’s pro- 
curators and attorneys, in which capacity we have taken 
out a charge of horning against you, as you must be 
aware by the schedule left by the messenger, for the sum 
of four thousand seven hundred and fifty-six pounds five 
shillings and sixpence one fourth of a penny sterling, 
which, with annual rent and expenses effeiring, we pre- 
sume will be settled, during the currency of the charge, 
to prevent further trouble. Same time, 1 am under the 

VOL. IJ 


198 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


necessity to observe our own account, amounting to seven 
hundred and sixty -nine pounds ten shillings and sixpence, 
is also due, and settlement would be agreeable ; but as 
we hold your rights, title-deeds, and documents in hypo- 
thec, shall have no objection to give reasonable time — say 
till the next money term. I am, for myself and partner, 
concerned to add, that Messrs. Goldiebird’s instructions 
to us are, to proceed and sine rnora^ of which 

I have the pleasure to advise you to prevent future mis- 
takes, reserving to ourselves otherwise to age as accords. 
I am, for self and partner, dear sir, your obliged humble 
servant, Gabriel Grinderson, for Greenhorn and Grind- 
erson.” 

“Ungrateful villain!” said Miss Wardour. 

“ Why, no ; it’s in the usual rule, I suppose ; the blow 
could not have been perfect if dealt by another hand — 
it’s all just as it should be,” answered the poor Baronet, 
his affected composure sorely belied by his quivering lip 
and rolling eye — “ But here’s a postscript I did not notice 
— come, finish the epistle.” • 

“I have to add, (not for self but partner) that Mr. 
Greenhorn will accommodate you by taking your service 
of plate, or the bay horses, if sound in wind and limb, at 
a fair appreciation, in part payment of your accompt.” 

“G — d confound him I” said Sir Arthur, losing all 
command of himself at this condescending proposal ; “his 
grandfather shod my father’s horses, and this descendant 
of a scoundrelly blacksmith proposes to swindle me out 
of mine 1 But I will write him a proper answer.” 

And he sat down and began to write with great vehe- 
mence, then stopped and read aloud : “ Mr. Gilbert Green- 
horn, in answer to two letters of a late date, I received a let- 
ter from a person calling himself Grinderson, and designing 
himself as your partner. When I address any one, I do not 
usually expect to be answered by deputy — I think I have 
been useful to your father, and friendly and civil to your- 
self, and therefore am now surprised — And yet,” said he, 
stopping short, “why should I be surprised at that or 
anything else — or why should I take up my time in 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


199 


rvriting to such a scoundrel ? — I shan’t be always kept in 
prison, I suppose, and to break that puppy’s bones when 
[ get out shall be rny first employment.” 

“ In prison, sir said Miss Wardour faintly. 

“ Ay, in prison, to be sure. Do you make any question 
about that 9 — Why, Mr. what’s his name’s fine letter for 
self and partner seems to be thrown away on you, or else 
you have got four thousand so many hundred pounds, 
with the due proportion of shillings, pence, and half-pence, 
to pay that aforesaid demand, as he calls it.” 

“ I, Sir ^ — O if I had the means ! — But where’s my 
brother f — ^Why does he not come, and so long in Scot- 
land ^ He might do something to assist us.” 

“ Who, Reginald 9 — I suppose he’s gone with Mr. 
Gilbert Greenhorn, or some such respectable person, to, 
the Lamberton races — I have expected him this week 
past — but I cannot wonder that my children should neglect 
me as well as every other person. But I should beg your 
pardon, my love, who never either neglected or offended 
me in your life.” 

And kissing her cheek as she threw her arms round his 
neck, he experienced that consolation which a parent feels 
even in the most distressed state, in the assurance that 
he possesses the affection cf a child. 

Miss Wardour took the advantage of this revulsion of 
feeling to endeavour to soothe her father’s mind to compo- 
sure. She reminded him that he had many friends. 

‘‘ I had many once,” said Sir Arthur ; but of some 
I have exhausted their kindness with my frantic projects 
— others are unable to assist' me — others are unwilling — 
it is all over with me — I only hope Reginald will take ex- 
ample by my folly.” 

‘‘ Should I not send to Monkbarns, sir said his 
daughter. 

“ To what purpose 9 He cannot lend me such a sum, 
and would not if he could, for he knows I am otherwise 
drowned in debt ; and he would only give me scraps of 
misanthropy and quaint ends of Latin.” 


200 


niE ANTlQ,LfARY. 


“ But be is shrewd and sensible, and was bred to busi 
ness, and, I am sure, always loved this family 

“ Yes ; I believe he did — it is a fine pass we are 
come to, wdien the affection of an Oldbuck is of conse- 
quence to a Wardour ! — But when matters come to ex- 
tremity, as I suppose they presently wdll — it may be as 
well to send for him. And now go take your walk, my 
dear — my mind is more coniposed than w^hen I had this 
cursed disclosure to make. You know the worst, and 
may daily or hourly expect it. Go take your walk — I 
would willingly- be alone for a little wdiile.” 

When Miss Wardour left the apartment, her first oc- 
cupation was to avail herself of the half permission grant- 
ed by her father, by despatching to Monkbarns the mes- 
senger, who, as we have already seen, met the Antiquary 
and his nephew on the sea-beach. 

Little recking, and indeed scarce knowing, where she 
was wandering, chance directed her into the walk beneath 
the briery bank, as it was called. A brook, wdiich, in 
former days, had supplied the castle-moat with water, 
here descended through a narrow dell, up which Miss War- 
dour’s taste had directed a natural path, which was render- 
ed neat and easy of ascent, without the air of being formally 
made and preserved. It suited well the character of the 
little glen, which was overhung with thickets and under 
wood, chiefly of larch and hazel, intermixed with the 
usual varieties of the thorn and brier. In this walk had 
passed that scene of explanation between Miss Wardour 
and Lovel which was overheard by old Edie Ochiltree. 
With a heart softened by the distress which approached 
her family. Miss Wardour now recalled every word and 
argument which Lovel had urged in support of his suit, 
and could not help confessing to herself, it was no small 
subject of pride to have inspired a young man of his tal- 
ents with a passion so strong and disinterested. That he 
should have left the pursuit of a profession ir which he 
was said to be rapidly rising, to bury himself in a disa- 
greeable place like Fairport, and brood over an unrequit- 
ed passion, in ight be ridiculed by others as romantic, 


THE ANTI(i,UAllY. 


201 


but was naturally forgiven as an excess of affe ^tionby the 
person who was the object of his attachment. Had he 
possessed an independence, however moderate, or ascer 
tained a clear and undisputed claim to the rank in society 
he was well qualified to adorn, she might now have had 
it in her power to offer her father, during his misfortunes, 
an asylum in an establishment of her own. These 
thoughts, so favourable to the absent lover, crowded 
in one after the other with such a minute recapitulation 
of his words, looks, and actions, as plainly intimated that 
his former repulse had been dictated rather by duty than 
inclination. Isabella was musing alternately upon this 
-subject, and upon that of her father’s misfortunes, when, 
as the path winded round a little hillock, covered with 
brushwood, the old Blue-Gown suddenly mother. 

With an air as if he had something important and 
mysterious to communicate, he doffed his bonnet, and as- 
sumed the cautious step and voice of one who would not 
wfillingly be overheard. “ I hae been wishing muckle to 
meet wi’ your leddyship — for ye ken I darena come to 
the house for Dousterswivel.” 

“ I heard Indeed,” said Miss Wardour, dropping an 
alms into thebonnet, “I heard that you had done a vei 7 
foolish, if not a very bad thing, Edie, and I was sorry to 
hear it.” 

“ Hout, my bonny leddy — fullsh 9 — A’ the warld’s 
fules — and how should auld Edie Ochiltree be aye wise 9 
— and for the evil — let them wha deal wi’ Dousterswivel 
tell whether he gat a grain mair than his deserts.” 

“ That may be true, Edie, and yet,” said Miss W ar- 
dour “ you may have been very wrong.” 

“ Weel, weel, we’se no dispute that e’enow it’s about 

yoursell I’m gaun to speak — Div ye ken what’s hanging 
ower the house of Knockwinnock ?” 

“ Great distress, I fear, Edie,” answered Miss War- 
dour ; “ but I am surprised it is already so public.” 

“ Public ! — Sweepclean, the messenger, will be there 
the day wi’ a’ his tackle. I ken it frae ar e o’ his con- 
currents, as they ca’ them, that’s w^arned to meet him — 


202 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


and they’ll be about their wark belive — wbare vhey clip 
there needs nae kame — they sheer close eneugh.” 

“ Are you sure this bad hour, Edie, is so very near 9 — 
Come, I know, it will.” 

“ It’s e’en as I tell you, leddy ! but dinna be cast down 
— there’s a heaven ower your head here, as weel as in 
that fearful night atween the Ballyburghness and the 
Halket-head. D’ye think He,wha rebuked the waters, 
canna protect you against the wrath of men, though they 
be armed with human authority 9” 

“ It is, indeed, all we have to trust to.” 

“ Ye dinna ken — ye dinna ken — when the night’s dark- 
est, the dawn’s nearest. If I had a gude horse, or could 
ride him when I had him, I reckon there wad be help yet. 
I trusted to hae gotten a cast wi’ the Royal Charlotte, but 
she’s coupit yonder, it’s like, at Kittlebrig. There was 
a young gentleman on the box, and he behuved to drive ; 
and Tam Sang, that suld hae mair sense, he behuved 
to let him, and the daft callant couldna tak the turn at 
the corner o’ the brig, and odd ! he took the curb-stane, 
and he’s whomled her as I wad whomle a toom bicker — 
it was a luck I hadna gotten on the tap o’ her — Sae I 
came down atween hope and despair to see if ye wad 
send me on.” 

“ And, Edie — where would ye go 9” said the lady. 

“ To Tannonburgh, my leddy,” (which was the first 
stage from F airport, but a good deal nearer to Knock- 
winnock,) “ and that without delay — it’s a’ on your ain 
business.” 

“ Our bysiness, Edie ? Alas ! I give you all credit for 
your good meaning, but” 

“ There’s nae buts about it, my leddy, for gang 1 
maun,” said the persevering Blue-Gown. 

“ But what is it that you would do at Tannonbura:h ? — 
or how can your going there benefit my father’s affairs ?” 

“ Indeed, my sweet leddy,” said the gaberlunzie. 
“ ye maun just trust that bit secret to auld Edie’s grey 
now, and ask nae questions about it — Certainly if I wad 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


203 


hae wared rny life for you yon night, I can hae nae rea- 
son to play an ill pliskie t’ye in the day o’ your distress.” 

“ Well, Edie, follow me then,” said Miss Wardour ; 
“ and I will try to get you sent to Tannonburgh.” 

“ Mak haste then, my bonny leddy, mak haste for the 
love o’ goodness !” — and he continued to exhort her to 
expedition until they reached the castle. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Let those go see who will — I like it not — 

For, say he w'as a slave to rank and pomp, 

And all the nothings he is now divorced from 
By the hard doom of stem necessity ; 

Yet is it sad to mark ms alter'd brow, 

Where vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 
O’er the deep wrkikles of repentant anguish. 

Old Play. 

When Miss Wardour arrived in the court of the castle, 
she was apprized by the first glance, that the visit of the 
officers of the law had already taken place. There was 
confusion, and gloom, and sorrow, and curiosity among 
the domestics, while the retainers of the law went from 
place to place, making an inventory of the goods and 
chattels falling under their warrant of distress, or poind- 
ing, as it is called in the law of Scotland. Captain MTn- 
tyre flew to her, as, struck dumb with the melancholy 
conviction of her father’s ruin, she paused upon the 
^threshold of the gateway. 

“ Dear Miss Wardour,” he said, ‘‘do not make your- 
self uneasy ; my uncle is coming immediately, and I am 
Bui‘e he will find some way to clear the house of these 
rascals.” 

“ Alas ! Captain M’ Intyre, I fear it will be too Ete.” 

20 


204 


THE ANTIQ.UARY. 


“ No,” answered Edie, impatiently, — ‘‘ could 1 but gel 
lo Tannonburgli. In the name of heaven. Captain"! 
contrive some way to get me on, and ye’ll do this poor, 
ruined family the best day’s doing that has been done 
them since Red-hand’s days — for as sure as e’er an auld 
saw came true, Knockwinnock house and land will be lost 
and won this day,” 

“ Why, what good can you do, old man 9” said Hector. 

But Robert, the domestic with whom Sir Arthur had 
been so much displeased in the morning, as if he had 
been watching for an opportunity to display his zeal, 
stepped hastily forward and said to his mistress, “If you 
please, ma’am, this auld man, Ochiltree, is very skeely 
and auld-farrant about mony things, as the diseases of 
cows, and horse, and sic like, and I am sure he disna 
want to be at Tannonburgh the day for naething, since he 
insists on’t this gate ; and, if your leddyship pleases, 
I’ll drive him there in the taxed cart in an liour’s time. 
I wad fain be of some use — I could bite my very tongue 
out when I think on this morning.” 

“ I am obliged to you, Robert,” said Miss Wardour , 
“ and if you really think it has the least chance of being 
useful” 

“ In the name of God,” said the old man, “ yoke the 
cart, Robie, and if I am no o’ some use, less or mair, I’D 
gie ye leave to fling me ower Kittlebrig as ye come back 
again. But O man, haste ye, for time’s precious this day.” 

Robert looked at his mistress as she retired into the 
house, and seeing he was not prohibited, flew to the 
stable-yard, which was adjacent to the court, in order to 
yoke the carriage ; for, though an old beggar was the 
personage least likely to render effectual assistance in a 
case of pecuniary distress, yet there was among the com- 
mon people of Edie’s circle, a general idea of his pru- 
dence and sagacity, which authorized Robert’s conclusion, 
that he would not.so earnestly have urged the necessity 
of this expedition had he not been convinced of its uiility. 
But so soon as the servant took hold of a horse to harness 
him for the tax-cart an officer touched him on the slicul- 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


205 


der — “ My friend, you must let that beast alone, he’s 
down in the schedule.” 

“ What,” said Robert, “ am I nci to take my master’s 
horse to go my young leddy’s errand 9” 

“You must remove nothing here,” said the man of 
office, “ or you will be liable for all consequences.” 

“ What the devil, sir,” said Hector, who, having fol- 
lowed to examine Ochiltree more closely on the nature 
of his hopes and expectations, already began to bristle 
like one of the terriers of his own native mountains, and 
sought but a decent pretext for venting his displeasure, 
“ have you the impudence to prevent the young lady’s 
servant from obeying her orders 

There was something in the air and tone of the young 
soldier, which seemed to argue that his interference was 
not likely to be confined to mere expostulation ; and 
which, if it promised finally the advantages of a process 
of battery and deforcement, w’ould certainly commence 
with the unpleasant circumstances necessary for founding 
such a complaint. The legal officer, confronted with 
him of the military, grasped with one doubtful hand the 
greasy bludgeon which was to enforce his authority, and 
with the other produced his short official baton, tipped 
with silver, and having a movable ring upon it — “ Cap- 
tain M’lntyre, — Sir, I have no quarrel with you, — hut if 
you interrupt me in my duty, I will break the wand of 
peace, and declare myself deforced.” 

“ And who the devil cares,” said Hector, totally igno- 
rant of the words of judicial action, “ whether you declare 
yourself divorced or married — and as to breaking your 
wand, or breaking the peace, or whatever you call it, all I 
know is, that I will break your bones if you prevent the lad 
from harnessing the horses to obey his mistress’s orders.” 

“ 1 take all who stand here to witness,” said the mes- 
senger, “ that I showed him my blazon and explained 
rny character. He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar,” 
—and he slid his enigmatical ring from one end of the 
baton to the ether, being the appropriate symbol of his 

VOL. II. 


206 


THE ANTIQ,UART. 


having been forcibly interrupted in the discharge of his 
duty. 

Honest Hector, better accustomed to the artillery of 
the field than to that of the law, saw this mystical cere- 
mony with great indifference ; and with like unconcern 
beheld the messenger sit down to write out an execution 
of deforcement. But at this moment, to prevent the 
well-meaning hot-headed Highlander from running the 
risk of a severe penalty, the Antiquary arrived puffing and 
blowing, with his handkerchief crammed under his hat, 
and his wig upon the end of bis stick. 

“ What the deuce is the matter here 9” he exclaimed, 
hastily adjusting his head-gear ; “ I have been following 
you in fear of finding your idle loggerhead knocked 
against one rock or other, and here I find you parted with 
your Bucephalus, and quarrelling with Sweepclean. A 
messenger, Hector, is a worse foe than a Phoca, whether 
it be the Phoca barbata, or the Phoca vitulina of your 
late conflict.” 

“ D — n the phoca, sir,” said Hector, “ whether it be 
the one or the other — I say d — n them both particular- 
ly ! — I think you would not have me stand quietly by and 
see a scoundrel like this, because he calls himself a king’s 
messenger, forsooth — (I hope the King has many better 
for his meanest errands,) insult a young lady of family and 
fashion like Miss Wardour *?” 

“Rightly argued, Hector,” said the Antiquary ; “but the 
King, like other people, has now and then shabby errands, 
and, in your ear, must have shabby fellows to do them. 
But even supposing you unacquainted with the statutes of 
William the Lion, in which, capite quarto, versu quinto, 
this crime of deforcement is termed despectus Domini 
Regis, a contempt, to wit, of the King himself, in whose 
name all legal diligence issues, could you not have inferred, 
from the information 1 took so much pains to give you to- 
day, that those who interrupt officers who come to execute 
letters of caption, are tanquam participes criminis rebellion 
uis ? seeing that he who aids a rebel, is himself, quodam* 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


207 


modo^ an accessary lo rebellion — but I’ll bring you out 
of the scrape.” 

He then spoke to the messenger, who, upon bis arri- 
val, had laid aside all thoughts of making a good by-job 
out of the deforcement, and accepted Mr. Oldbuck’s as- 
surances that the horse and taxed-cart should be safely 
returned in the course of two or three hours. 

“ Very well, sir,” said the Antiquary, “ since you are 
disposed to be so civil, you shall have another job in 
your own best way — a little cast of state politics — a crime 
punishable per Legem Juliam, Mr. Sweepclean — Hark 
thee hither.” 

And, after a whisper of five minutes, he gave him a 
slip of paper, on receiving which, the messenger mounted 
his horse, and, with one of his assistants, rode away pret- 
ty sharply. The fellow who remained seemed to delay 
his operations purposely, proceeded in the rest of his 
duty very slowly, and with the caution and precision of 
one who feels himself overlooked by a skilful and severe 
inspector. 

In the meantime, Oldbuck, taking his nephew by the 
arm, led him into the house, and they were ushered into 
the presence of Sir Arthur Wardour, who, in a flutter 
between wounded pride, agonized apprehension, and vain 
attempts to disguise both under a show of indifference, 
exhibited a spectacle of painful interest. 

“ Happy to see you, Mr. Oldbuck — always happy to 
see my friends in fair weather or foul,” said the poor 
Baronet, struggling not for composure, but for gaiety, an 
affectation which was strongly contrasted by the nervous 
and protracted grasp of his hand, and the agitation of his 
whole demeanour ; “lam happy to see you — You are 
riding, I see — I hope in this confusion your horses are 
taken good care of — I always like to have my friends' 
horses looked after — Egad, they will have all my care 
now, for you se(i they are like to leave me none of my 
own — he ' he ! he ' eh, Mr. Oldbuck 9” 


208 


THE ANTICtUARY. 


This attempt at a jest was attended by a hystei^ca 
giggle, which poor Sir Arthur intended should s(-und a£ 
an indifferent laugh. 

“ You know I never ride, Sir Arthur,” said the Anti- 
quary. 

“ I beg your pardon ; but sure I saw your nephew 
arrive on horseback a short time since. We must look 
after officers’ horses, and his was a handsome grey 
charger as I have seen.” 

Sir Arthur was about to ring the bell, when Mr. Old- 
buck said, “ My nephew came on your own grey horse, 
Sir Arthur.” 

“ Mine !” said the poor Baronet, “ mine was it 9 then 
the sun had been in my eyes — Well, I’m not worthy 
having a horse any longer, since I don’t know my own 
when I see him.” 

“ Good Heaven,” thought Oldbuck, “ how is this man 
altered from the formal stolidity of his usual manner ! — 
he grows wanton under adversity — Sed pereunti mille 
figurce.^^ He then proceeded aloud ; “ Sir Arthur, we 
must necessarily speak a little on business.” 

“ To be sure,” said Sir Arthur ; — “ but it was so 
good that I should not know the horse I have ridden these 
five years, ha 1 ha ! ha !” 

“ Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “ don’t let us waste 
time which is precious ; we shall have, I hope, many 
Detter seasons for jesting — desipere in loco is the maxim 
of Horace — I more than suspect this has been brought 
on by the villany of Dousterswivel.” 

‘‘ Don’t mention his name, sir !’’ said Sir Arthur, and 
his manner entirely changed from a fluttered affectation 
of gaiety to all the agitation of fury — his eyes sparkled, 
his mouth foamed, his hands were clenched ; “ don’t 
mention his name, sir,” he vociferated, “ unless you would 
see me go mad in your presence I — That 1 should have 
been such a misera! le dolt — such an infatuated idiot — 
such a beast, endowed with thrice a beast’s stupidity, to 
Se led and driven and spur-galled by such a rascal, and 


THE ANTIQ,UAllY. 


209 


under such ridiculous pretences — Mr. Oldbuck, 1 could 
tear myself when I think of it.” 

“ I only meant to say,” answered the Antiquary 
“ that this fellow is like to meet his reward ; and 1 can- 
not but think we shall frighten something out of him that 
may be of service to you^ — He has certainly had some 
unlawful correspondence on the other side of the water.” 

“ Has he % — has he 9 — has he, indeed 9 — then d — n 
the household-goods, horses, and so forth — I will go to 
prison a happy man, Mr. Oldbuck — I hope in Heaven 
there’s a reasonable chance of his being hanged 9” 

“ Why, pretty fair,” said Oldbuck, willing to encour- 
age this diversion, in hopes it might mitigate the feelings 
which seemed like to overset the poor man’s understand- 
ing ; “ lionester men have stretched a rope, or the law 
has been sadly cheated — But this unhappy business of 
your’s — can nothing be done 9 — Let me see the charge.” 

He took the papers ; and, as he read them, his coun- 
tenance grew hopelessly dark and disconsolate. Miss 
Wardour had by this time entered the apartment, and 
fixing her eyes on Mr. Oldbuck as if she meant to read 
lier fate in his looks, easily perceived, from the change in 
his e}'e and the dropping of his nether-jaw, how little was 
to be hoped. 

We are then irremediably ruined, Mr. Oldbuck ?’ 
said the young lady. 

Irremediably 9 — 1 hope not — but the instant demand 
is very large, and others will, doubtless, pour in.” 

Ay, never doubt that, IMonkbarns,” said Sir xArthur ; 
where the slaughter is, the eagles will be gathered to- 
gether. I am like a sheep wdiich I have seen fall down 
a precipice, or drop down from sickness — if you had not 
seen a single raven or hooded crow for a fortnight before, 
be will not lie on the heather ten minutes before half a 
dozen will he picking out his eyes (and he drew his hand 
over his own,) and tearing at his heart-strings before the 
poor devil has time to die. But that d — d long-scented 

Vulture that dogged me so long — you have got him fast, 1 
hope 9” 


VOL. ir 


210 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


“ Fast enough,” said the Antiquary ; “ the gentleman 
wished to take the wings of the morning and bolt in the 
what d’ye call it, — the coach and four there. But he 
would have found twigs limed for him at Edinburgh. As 
it is, he never got so far^ for the coach being overturned 
— as how could it go safe with such a Jonah 9 — he has 
had an infernal tumble, is carried into a cottage near Kit- 
tlebrig, and, to prevent all possibility of escape, I have 
sent your friend, Sweepclean, to bring him back to F air- 
port, in nomine regis, or to act as his sick-nurse at Kittle- 
brig, as is most fitting. And now. Sir Arthur, permit 
me to have some conversation with you on the present 
unpleasant state of your affairs, that we may see what can 
be done for their extrication and the Antiquary led 
the way into the library, followed by the unfortunate 
gentleman. 

They had been shut up together for about two hours, 
when Miss Wardour interrupted them with her cloak on, 
as if prepared for a journey. Her countenance was very 
pale, yet expressive of the composure which character- 
ized her disposition. 

“ The messenger is returned, Mr. Oldbuck.” 

“ Returned 9 — What the devil ! he has not let the fel- 
low go 9” 

“ No — I understand he has carried him to confine- 
ment ; and now he is returned to attend my father, and 
says he can wait no longer.” 

A loud wrangling was now heard on the staircase, in 
which the voice of Hector predominated. “ You an 
officer, sir, and these ragamuffins a party ! a parcel of 
beggarly tailor fellows — tell yourselves off by nine, and 
we shall know your effective strength.” 

The grumbling voice of the man of law was then heard 
indistinctly muttering a reply, to which Hector retorted 
— “ Come, come, sir, this won’t do ; march your party, 
as you call them, out of this house directly, or I’ll send 
you and them to the right about presently.” 

“ The devil take Hector,” said the Antiquary, hasten- 
ing to the scene of action ; “ his highland blood is up 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


211 


again, and we shall have him fighting a duel with the bailifi 
- — Come, Mr. Sweepclean, you must give us a little time 
— 1 know you would not wish to hurry Sir Arthur.” 

“ By no means, sir,” said the messenger, putting his 
hat off, which he had thrown on to testify defiance of 
Captain M’Intyre’s threats ; ‘‘ but your nephew, sir, 

holds very uncivil language, and I have borne too much 
of it already j and I am not justified in leaving my pris- 
oner any longer, after the instructions I received, unless 
[ am to get payment of the sums contained in my dili- 
gence.” And he held out the caption, pointing with the 
awful truncheon which he held in his right hand to the 
formidable line of figures jotted upon the back thereof. 

Hector, on the other hand, though silent from respect 
to his uncle, answered this gesture by shaking his clench- 
ed fist at the messenger with a frown of highland wrath. 

“ Foolish boy, be quiet,” said Oldbuck, “ and come 
with me into the room — the man is doing his miserable 
duty, and you will only make matters worse by opposing 
him. I fear. Sir Arthur, you must accompany this man 
to Fairport ; there is no help for it in the first instance — 
I will accompany you to consult what farther can be done 
— My nephew will escort Miss Wardour to Monkbarns, 
which I hope she will make her residence until these un 
pleasant matters are settled.” 

‘‘ I go with my father, IMr. Oldbuck,” said Miss War- 
dour firmly — “ I have prepared his clothes and my own 
— I suppose we shall have the use of the carriage 

‘‘ Anything in reason, madam,” said the messenger ; 
“ I have ordered it out, and it’s at the door--l will go 
on the box with the coachman — I have no desire to in- 
trude — but two of the concurrents must attend on horse- 
back.” 

“ I will attend too,” said Hector, and he ran dcvvn to 
secure a horse for himself. 

“ We must go then,” said the Antiquary. 

‘‘ To jail,” said the Baronet, sighing involuntarily ; 

and what of that he resumed, in a tone affectedly 
cheerful — “ it is only a house we can’t get out of, alio 


212 


THE ANTICtUAllY. 


all — suppose a fit of the gout, and Knockwinnock would 
be ihe same — Ay, ay, Monkbarns, we’ll call it a fit of the 
gout without the d — d pain.” 

But his eyes swelled with tears as he spoke, and his 
faltering accent marked how much this assumed gaiety 
cost him. The Antiquary wrung his hand, and, like the 
Indian Banians, who drive the real terms of an important 
bargain by signs, while they are apparently talking of 
indifferent matters, the hand of Sir Arthur, by its con- 
vulsive return of the grasp, expressed his sense of grati- 
tude to his friend, and the real state of his internal agony 
They stepped slowly down the magnificent staircase — 
every well-known object seeming to the unfortunate father 
and daughter to assume a more prominent and distinct 
appearance than usual, as if to press themselves on their 
notice for the last time. 

At the first landing-place. Sir Arthur made an agoniz- 
ed pause ; and as he observed the Antiquary look at him 
anxiously, he said with assumed dignity — “ Yes, Mr. 
Oldbuck, the descendant of an ancient line — the repre- 
sentative of Richard Redhand and Gamelyn de Guard- 
over, may be pardoned a sigh when he leaves the castle 
of his fathers thus poorly escorted. When I was sent 
to the Tower with my late father, in the year 1745, it 
was upon a charge becoming our birth — upon an accusa- 
tion of high-treason, Mr. Oldbuck, — we were escorted 
from Highgate by a troop of life-guards, and committed 
upon a secretary of state’s warrant ; and now, here I am, 
in my old age, dragged from my household by a miser- 
able creature like that, (pointing to the messenger,) and 
for a paltry concern of pounds, shillings, and pence.” 

“ At least,” said Oldbuck, “ you have now the com- 
pany of a dutiful daughter, and a sincere friend, if you 
will permit me to say so, and that may be some consola- 
tion, even without the certainty that there can be no hang- 
ing, drawing, or quartering, on the present occasion. — ■ 
But 1 hear that choleric boy as loud as ever I hope to 
God he has got into no new broil ! — it was an accursed 
chance that brought him here at all.” 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


213 


In fact, a sudden clamour, in which the loud voice and 
somewhat northern accent of Hector was again pre-em- 
inently distinguished, broke off this conversation. The 
cause we must refer to the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Fortune, you say, flics from us — She but circles, 

Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler’s skiflT, — 

Lost ih the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing. 

As if to court the aim. — Experience watches. 

And has her on the wheel. Old Play. 

The shout of triumph in Hector’s warlike tones was not 
easily distinguished from that of battle. But as he rushed 
up stairs with a packet in his hand, exclaiming, Long 
life to an old soldier ! here comes Edie with a whole 
budget of good news !” it became obvious that his pres- 
ent cause of clamour was of an agreeable nature. He 
delivered the letter to Oldbuck, shook Sir Arthur heartily 
by the hand, and wished Miss Wardour joy, with all the 
frankness of highland congratulation. The messenger, 
who had a kind of instinctive terror for Captain M’ln- 
tyre, drew towards his prisoner, keeping an eye of cau- 
tion on the soldier’s motions. 

“ Don’t suppose I shall trouble myself about you, you 
dirty fellow,” said the soldier ; “ there’s a guinea for the 
fright I have given you ; and here comes an old forty-two 
man, who is a fitter match for you than I am.” 

The messenger (one of those dogs who are not too 
scornful to eat dirty puddings,) caught in his hand the 
guinea which Hector chucked at his face ; and abode 
warily and carefully the turn which matters were now to 
lake. All voices meanwhile were loud in inquiries, which 
no one was in a hurry to answer. 


2J4 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


“ What 13 the matter, Captain M’Intyre 9” said Sir 
Arthur. 

Ask old Edie,” said Hector 5 only know all’s 
safe and well.” 

“ What is all this, Edie said Miss Wardour to the 
mendicant. 

“ Your leddyship maun ask Monkbarns, for he has got- 
ten the yepistolary correspondensh.” 

“ God save the King !” exclaimed the Antiquary, at 
the first glance of the contents of his packet, and sur- 
prised at once out of decorum, philosophy, and phlegm, 
he skimmed his cocked-hat in the air, from which it de- 
scended not again, being caught in its fall by a branch 
of the chandelier. He next, looking joyously around, 
laid a grasp on his wig, which he perhaps would have sent 
after the beaver, had not Edie stopped his hand, exclaim- 
ing, “ Lordsake ! he’s gaun gyte — mind Caxon’s no here 
to repair the damage.” 

Every person now assailed the Antiquary, clamouring 
to know the cause of so sudden a transport, when, some- 
what ashamed of his rapture, he fairly turned tail, like 
a fox at the cry of a pack of hounds, and ascending the 
stair by two steps at a time, gained ^he upper landing- 
place, where, turning round, he addressed the astonished 
audience as follows : — 

“ My good friends, /are^e Unguis — To give you infor- 
mation, I must first, according to logicians, be possessed 
of it myself ; and, therefore, with your leaves, I will retire 
into the library to examine these papers — Sir Arthur and 
Miss Wardour will have the goodness to step into the 
parlour — Mr. Sweepclean, secede pauUsper, or, in your 
own language, grant us a supersedere of diligence for five 
minutes — Hector, draw off your forces, and make your 
bear-garden flourish elsewhere — And, finally, be all of 
good cheer till my return, which will be instanter 

The contents of the packet were indeed so little ex- 
pected, that the Antiquary might be pardoned, first his 
ecstasy, and next his desire of delaying to communicate 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


215 


the intelligence they conveyed, until it was arranged and 
digested in his own mind. 

Within the envelope was a letter addressed to Jonathan 
Oldbuck, Esq. of Monkbarns, of the following purport : — 

“ Dear Sir — To you, as my father’s proved and valued 
friend, I venture to address myself, being detained here 
by military duty of a very pressing nature. You must, 
by this time, be acquainted with the entangled state of our 
affairs ; and I know it will give you great pleasure to 
learn, that I am as fortunately as unexpectedly placed in 
a situation to give effectual assistance for extricating them 
I understand Sir Arthur is threatened with severe meas- 
ures by persons who acted formerly as his agents ; and, 
by advice of a creditable man of business here, I have 
procured the enclosed writing, which I understand will 
stop their proceedings, until their claim shall be legally 
discussed, and brought down to its proper amount. 1 
also enclose bills to the amount of one thousand pounds 
to pay any other pressing demands, and request of your 
friendship to apply them according to your discretion. 
You will be surprised 1 give you this trouble, when it would 
seem more natural to address my father directly in his 
own affairs. But I have yet had no assurance that his 
eyes are opened to the character of a person against 
whom you have often, I know, warned him, and whose 
baneful influence has been the occasion of these distresses. 
And as I owe the means of relieving Sir Arthur to the 
generosity of a matchless friend, it is my duty to take the 
most certain measures for the supplies being devoted to 
the purpose for which they were destined, and 1 know 
your wisdom and kindness will see that it is done. i\Iy 
friend, as he claims an interest in your regard, will ex- 
plain some views of his own in the enclosed letter. The 
state of the post-office at Fairport being rather notorious, 
I must send this letter to Tannonburgh ; but the old man 
Ochiltree, whom particular circumstances have recom- 
mended as trustworthy, has information when the packet 
is likely to reach that place, and will take care to forward 
it. J expect to have soon an opportunity to apologize in 


216 


THE ANTKiUARY* 


person for the trouble I now give, and have the honour to 
be your very faithful servant — Reginald Gamelyn 
VVardour. Edinburgh, 6th August, 179 — 

The Antiquary hastily broke the seal of the inclosure, 
the contents of which gave him equal surprise and pleas- 
ure. When he had in some measure composed himself 
after such unexpected tidings, he inspected the other pa- 
pers carefully, which all related to business — put the bills 
into his pocket-book, and wrote a short acknowledgment 
to be despatched by that day’s post, for he was extremely 
methodical in money matters ; — and, lastly, fraught with 
all the importance of disclosure, he descended to the 
parlour. 

“ Sweepclean,” said he, as he entered, to the officei 
who stood respectfully at the door, “ you must sweep 
yourself clean out of Knockwinnock Castle wiih all your 
followers, tag-rag and bob-tail. See’st thou this paper, 
man 7” 

“ A sist on a bill o’ suspension,” said the messenger, 
with a disappointed look ; “ I thought it would be a queer 
thing if ultimate diligence was to be done against sic a 
gentleman as Sir Arthur — Weel, sir, I’se go my ways 
with my party — And who’s to pay ray charges 7” 

“ They who employed thee,” replied Oldbuck, “ as 
thou full well dost know. — But here comes another ex- 
press : this is a day of news, I think.” 

This was Mr. Mailsetter on his mare from F airport, with 
a letter for Sir Arthur, another to the messenger, both ol 
which, he said, he was directed to forward instantly. 
The messenger opened his, observing, that Greenhorn and 
Grinderson were good enough men for his expenses, and 
here was a letter from them desiring him to stop the dili- 
gence. Accordingly, he immediately left the apartmeni. 
and staying no longer than to gather his posse together, he 
did then, in the phrase of Hector, who watched his de- 
parture as a jealous mastiff eyes the retreat of a repulsed 
beggar evacuate Flanders. 


THE ANTIQ,UAIIY. 


217 


Sir Arthur’s letter was from Mr. Greenhorn, and a cu 
riosity in its way. We give it, with the worthy Baronet’s 
comments. 

“ Sir — [Oh ! I am dear sir no longer ; folks are only 
dear to Messrs. Greenhorn and Grinderson when they 
are in adversity] — Sir, I am much concerned to learn, 
on my return from the country, where I was called on 
particular business, [a bet on the sweepstakes, I suppose,] 
that my partner had the impropriety, in my absence, to 
undertake the concerns of Messrs. Goldiehird’s in prefer 
ence to yours, and had written to you in an unbecoming 
manner. I beg to make my most humble apology, as well 
as Mr. Grinderson’s — [come, I see he can write for him- 
self and partner too,] — and trust it is impossible you can 
think me forgetful of, or ungrateful for, the constant pat- 
ronage which my family \_his family ! curse him for a 
puppy !] have uniformly experienced from that of Knock- 
vvinnock. I am sorry to find, from an interview I had this 
day with Mr. Wardour, that he is much irritated, and, 1 
must own, with apparent reason. But in order to remedy 
as much as in me lies the mistake of which he complains, 
[pretty mistake, indeed ! to clap his patron into jail,] I 
have sent this express to discharge all proceedings against 
your person or property ; and at the same time to trans- 
mit my respectful apology. I have only to add, that x\lr. 
Grinderson is of opinion, that, if restored to your confi- 
dence, he could point out circumstances connected with 
M essrs. Goldiebird’s present claim which would greatly 
reduce its amount [so, so, willing to play the rogue on 
either side ;] and that there is not the slightest hurry in 
settling the balance of your accompt with us ; and that I 
am, for Mr. G. as well as myself. Dear Sir, [O, ay, he 
has written himself into an approach to familiarity,] your 
much obliged, and most humble servant, Gilbert 
Greenhorn.” 

“ Well said, Mr. Gilbert Greenhorn,” said Monkbarns ; 
“ I see now there is some use in having two attorneys in 
one firm. 'Their movements resemble those of the man 

VOL. II. 


218 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


and woman in a Dutch baby-house. When it is .air 
weather with the client, out comes the gentleman-partnei 
to fawn like a spaniel ;%when it is foul, forth bolts the 
operative brother to pin like a bull-dog — Well, I thank 
God, that my man of business still wears an equilateral 
cocked hat, has a house in the Old Town, is as much afraid 
of a horse as I am myself, plays at golf of a Saturday, 
goes to the kirk of a Sunday, and, in respect he has no 
partner, hath only his own folly to apologize for.” 

“ There are some writers very honest fellows,” said 
Hector ; “ I should like to hear any one say that my 
cousin, Donald M’lntyre, Strathtudlem’s seventh son, (the 
other six are in the army,) is not as honest a fellow” 

“ No doubt, no doubt. Hector, all the M’lntyres are 
so ; they have it by patent, man — But, I was going to 
say, that in a profession where unbounded trust is neces- 
sarily reposed, there is nothing surprising that fools should 
neglect it in their idleness, and tricksters abuse it in their 
knavery — But it is the more to the honour of those, and 
[ will vouch for many, who unite integrity with skill and 
attention, and walk honourably upright where there are so 
many pitfalls and stumbling-blocks for those of a different 
character. To such men their fellow-citizens may safely 
intrust the care of protecting their patrimonial rights, and 
their country the more sacred charge of her laws and 
privileges.” 

“ They are best off, however, that hae least to do with 
them,” said Ochiltree, who had stretched his neck into the 
parlour door ; for the general confusion of the family not 
having yet subsided, the domestics, like waves after the 
fall of a hurricane, had not yet exactly regained their 
due limits, but were roaming wildly through the house. 

“ Aha, old Truepenny, art thou there 9” said the An- 
tiquary ; “ Sir Arthur, let me bring in the messenger ol 
good luck, though he is but a lame one. You talked of 
tlie raven that scented out the slaughter from afar ; but 
liere’s a blue pigeon, (somewhat of the oldest and tough- 
est, 1 grant,) who smelled the good news six or seven 


THE ANTIQ,XJA11T. 


219 


miles off, flew thither in the taxed-cart, and retuii ed with 
the olive branch.” 

“Ye owe it a’ to puir Robie, that drave me — puir 
fallow,” said the beggar, “ he doubts he’s in disgrace wi’ 
my leddy and Sir Arthur.” 

Robert’s repentant and bashful face was seen over the 
mendicant’s shoulder. 

“ In disgrace with me 9” said Sir Arthur — “ how so 9” 
— for the irritation into which he had worked himself on 
occasion of the toast had been long forgotten — “ O, 1 
recollect — Robert, 1 was angry, and you were wrong — go 
about your work, and never answer a master that speaks 
to you in a passion.” 

“ Nor any one else,” said the Antiquary ; “ for a soft 
answer turneth away wrath.” 

“ And tell your mother, who is so ill with the rheuma- 
tism, to come down to the housekeeper to-morrow,” said 
Miss Wardour, “ and we will see what can be of service 
to her.” 

“ God bless your leddyship,” said poor Robert, “ and 
his honour Sir Arthur, and the young laird, and the house 
o’ Knockwinnock in a’ its branches, far and near — it’s 
been a kind and a gude house to the puir this mony hun- 
dred years.” 

“ There” — said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur — “ we 
won’t dispute — hut there you see the gratitude of the poor 
people naturally turns to the civil virtues of your family 
You don’t hear them talk of Redhand, or Hell-in-Har- 
ness. For me, I must say, Odi accipitrem qni semper 
vivit in armis — so let us eat and drink in peace, and be 
'oyful. Sir Knight.” 

A table was quickly covered in the parlour, where the 
party sat joyously down to some refreshment. At the 
request of Oldbuck, Edie Ochiltree was permitted to 
sit by the sideboard in a great leathern chair, which was 
placed in some measure behind a screen. 

“ I accede to this the more readily,” said Sir Arthur, 

because I remember in my father’s days that chair was 
occupied by Ailshie Gourlay, who, for aught I know, was 


220 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


the last privileged fool, or jester, maintained by any family 
of distinction in Scotland.” 

A wee), Sir Arthur,” replied the beggar, who never 
hesitated an instant between his friend and his jest, “ mony 
a wise man sits in a fule’s seat, and mony a fule in a wise 
man's, especially in families of distinction.” 

Miss Wardour, fearing the effect of this speech (how- 
ever worthy of Ailshie Gourlay, or any other privileged 
jester,) upon the nerves of her father, hastened to inquire 
whether ale and beef should not be distributed to the 
servants and people, wdiom the news had assembled 
around the castle. 

“ Surely, my love,” said her father ; “ when was it 
ever otherwise in our families when a siege had been 
raised 

“ Ay, a siege laid by Saunders Sweepclean the bailiff, 
and raised by Edie Ochiltree the gaberlunzie, par nohile 
fratrum,^^ said Oldbuck, “ and well pitted against each 
other in respectability. But never mind. Sir Arthur — 
these are such sieges and such reliefs as our time of day 
admits of — and our escape is not less worth commemo- 
rating in a glass of this excellent wdne — Upon my credit, 
it is Burgundy, I think.” 

“ Were there anything better in the cellar,” said Miss 
Wardour, “ it would be all too little to regale you after 
your friendly exertions.” 

“ Say you so 9” said the Antiquary — “ why, then, a 
cup of thanks to you, my fair enemy, and soon may you 
be besieged as ladies love best to be, and sign terms ol 
capitulation in the chapel of Saint Winnox.” 

Miss Wardour blushed. Hector coloured, and then 
grew pale. 

Sir Arthur answered, “ My daughter is much obliged 
to you, Monkbarns ; but unless you’ll accept of her your- 
self, 1 really do not know where a poor knight’s daughter 
is to seek for an alliance in these mercenary times.” 

“ Me, mean ye. Sir Arthur 9 — No, not 1 ; I will claim 
the privilege of the duello, and, as being unable to en- 
sourter my fair enemy myself, I will appear by my eham- 


THE ANTIQUE ARY. 


221 


pion — But of this matter hereafter. — ^What dc find in 

the papers there, Hector, that you hold your head down 
over them as if your nose were bleeding 

“ Nothing particular, sir ; but only that, as my arm is 
now almost quite well, I think I shall relieve you of my 
company in a day or two, and go to Edinburgh. I see 
Major Neville is arrived there. I should like to see him.” 

“ Major whom ?” said his uncle. 

“ Major Neville, sir,” answered the young soldier. 

“ And who the devil is Major Neville ?” demanded 
the Antiquary. 

“ O, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “ you must re- 
member his name frequently in the newspapers — a very 
distinguished young officer indeed. But 1 am happy to 
say that Mr. M’lntyre need not leave Monkbarns to see 
him, for my son writes that the Major is to come with him 
to Knockwinnock, and I need not say how happy I shall 
be to make the young gentlemen acquainted, — unless, 
indeed, they are known to each other already.” 

“ No, not personally,” answered Hector, “ but I have 
had occasion to hear a good deal of him, and we have 
several mutual friends — your son being one of them. 
— But I must go to Edinburgh ; for ] see my uncle is be- 
ginning to grow tired of me, and I am afraid” 

That you will grow tired of him interrupted Old- 
buck, — “ I fear that’s past praying for. But you have for- 
gotten that the ecstatic twelfth of August approaches, and 
that you are engaged to meet one of Lord Glenallan’s 
gamekeepers, God knows where, to persecute the peace- 
ful feathered creation.” 

‘‘ True, true, uncle — I had forgot that,” exclaimed 
the volatile Hector, — “ but you said something just novi 
that put every thing out of my head.” 

“ An it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting 
his white head from behind the screen, where he had been 
plentifully regaling himself with ale and cold meat — “ an 
it like your honours, I can tell ye something that wUl keep 
the Captain wi’ us amaist as weel as the pouting- -Hear 
y^e nae the French are coming.^” 

VOL. IT. 


222 


THE ANTKiUART. 


The French, you blockhead ?” answered Oldbuck— 
» Bah !” 

“ I have not had time,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “ to 
look over my lieutenancy correspondence for the week 
— indeed, I generally make a rule to read it only on 
Wednesdays, except in pressing cases, — for I do every 
thing by method — but from the glance I took of my let- 
ters, I observed some alarm was entertained.” 

“ Alarm 9” said Edie, — “ troth there’s alarm, for the 
provost’s gar’d the beacon light on the Halket-head be 
sorted up (that suld hae been sorted naif a year syne,) 
in an unco hurry, and the council hae named nae less a 
man than auld Caxon himsell to watch the light. Some 
say it was out o’ compliment to Lieutenant TafFril; for it’s 
neist to certain that he’ll marry Jenny Caxon — some say 
it’s to please your honour and Monkbarns that wear 
wigs — and some say there’s some auld story about a peri- 
wig that ane o’ the baillies got and ne’er paid for — Ony 
way, there he is, sitting cockit up like a skart upon the 
tap o’ the craig, to skirl when foul weather comes.” 

On mine honour, a pretty warder,” said Monkbarns ; 
and what’s my wig to do all the while 9” 

“ I asked Caxon that very question,” answered Och- 
iltree, “ and he said he could look in ilka morning, and 
gie’t a touch afore he gaed to his bed, for there’s another 
man to watch in the day-time, and Caxon says he’ll frizz 
your honour’s wig as weel sleeping as wauking.” 

This news gave a different turn to the conversation, 
which ran upon national defence, and the duty of fighting 
for the land we live in, until it w’as time to part. The 
Antiquary and his nephew resumed their walk homeward, 
after parting from Knockwinnock with the warmest ex- 
pressions of mutual regard, and an agreement to meet 
again as soon as possible. 


THE ANTKiUARy. 


223 


CHAPTER XXllI. 

Nay, if she love me not, 1 care not for her : 

Slirtll I look pale because the maiden blooms 1 
Or sigh because she smiles, and smiles on others 7 
Not I, by Heaven ! — I hold my peace too dear, 

To let it, like the plume upon her cap, 

Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. 

O/d Play, 

“ Hector,” said his uncle to Captain M’Intyre, in the 
course of their walk homeward, “ I am sometimes in- 
clined to suspect that, in one respect, you are a fool.” 

“ If you only think me so in one respect, sir, I am sure 
you do me more grace that I expected or deserved.” 

“ I mean in one particular, par excellence,^ answered 
the Antiquary. “ I have sometimes thought that you 
have cast your eyes upon Miss Wardour.” 

‘‘ Well, sir,” said M’Intyre, with much composure. 

“ Well, sir !” echoed his uncle, “ deuce take the fellow, 
he answers me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the 
world, that he, a captain in the army, and nothing at all 
besides, should marry the daughter of a Baronet.” 

“ I presume to think, sir,” said the young Highlander, 
“ there would be no degradation on Miss Wardour’s part 
in point of family.” 

“ O, Heaven forbid we should come on that topic ! — 
no, no, equal both — both on the table-land of gentility, 
and qualified to look down on every roturier in Scotland.” 

‘‘ And in point of fortune we are pretty even, since 
neither of us have got any,” continued Hector. “ There 
may be an error, but I cannot plead guilty to presump- 
tion.” 

“ But here lies the error, then, if you call it so,” repli- 
ed his uncle j “ she won’t have you. Hector.” 

“ Indeed sh '” 


224 


THE AA’TKiUARY. 


‘‘ It is very sure, Hector ; and to make it double sure 
I must inform you that slie likes another man. She 
misunderstood some words I once said to her, and I liave 
since been able to guess at the interpretation she put . on 
them. At the time, I was unable to account for her hes- 
itation and blushing ; but, my poor Hector, I now under- 
stand them as a death-signal to your hopes and preten- 
sions — So I advise you to beat your retreat, and draw ofi 
your forces as well as you can, for the fort is tjpo well 
garrisoned for you to storm it.” 

“ I have no occasion to beat any retreat, uncle,” said 
Hector, holding himself very upright, and marching with 
a sort of dogged and offended solemnity ; “ no man needs 
to retreat that has never advanced. There are women in 
Scotland besides Miss Wardour, of as good family” 

“ And better taste,” said his uncle ; “ doubtless there 
are. Hector 5 and though I cannot say but that she is one 
of the most accomplished as well as sensible girls I have 
seen, yet I doubt much of her merit would be cast away 
on you. A showy figure, now, with two cross feathers 
above her noddle — one green, one blue ; who would wear 
a riding-habit of the regimental complexion, drive a gig 
one day, and the next review the regiment on the grey 
trotting pony which dragged that vehicle, hoc erat in votis 
— These arc the qualities that would subdue you, espe- 
cially if she had a taste for natural history, and loved a 
specimen of a 

“ It’s a little hard, sir,” said Hector, “ 1 must have 
that cursed seal thrown into iny face on all occasions — 
but 1 care little about it — and 1 shall not break my heart 
for IMiss Wardour. She is free to choose for herself, and 
1 wish her all happiness.” 

Magnanimously resolved, thou prop of Troy ! Why, 
Hector,] was afraid of a scene — Your sister told me you 
were desperately in love with Miss Wardour.” - 

“ Sir,” answered the young man, “ you would not 
hare me desperately in love with a w^ian that docs not 
care about me .^” 

“ Well, nephew,” said the Antiquary, more seriously 
‘ there is doubtless much sense in what you say ; j et I 


THE ANTIQ^UARY. 


225 


would have given a great deal, some twenty or twenty- 
five years since, to have been able to think as you do.’ 

“ Any body, I suppose, may think as they please on 
such subjects,” said Hector. 

“ Not according to the old school,” said Oldbuck , 
“ but, as I said before, the practice of the modern seems 
in this case the most prudential, though, I think, scarcely 
the most interesting. But tell me your ideas now on 
this prevailing subject of an invasion. — The cry is still, 
They come.” 

Hec^pr, swallowing his mortification, which he was pe- 
culiarly anxious to conceal from his uncle’s satirical ob- 
servation, readily entered into a conversation which was 
to turn the Antiquary’s thoughts from Miss Wardour and 
the seal. When they reached Monkbarns, the commu- 
nicating to the ladies the events which had taken place 
at the castle, with the counter-information of how long 
dinner had waited before the womankind had ventured 
to eat it in the Antiquary’s absence, averted these delicate 
topics of discussion. 

The next morning the Antiquary arose early, and, as 
Caxon had not yet made his appearance, he began men- 
tally to feel the absence of the petty news and small talk, 
of which the ex-peruquier was a faithful reporter, and 
which habit had made as necessary to the Antiquary as his 
occasional pinch of snufF, although he held, or affected to 
hold, both to be of the same intrinsic value. The feeling 
of vacuity peculiar to such a deprivation was alleviated 
by the appearance of old Ochiltree, sauntering beside the 
clipped yew and holly hedges, with the air of a person 
quite at home. Indeed, so familiar had he been of late, 
that even Juno did not bark at him, but contented her- 
self with watching him with a close and vigilant eye. 
Our Antiquary stepped out in his night-gown, and instant- 
ly received and returned his greeting. 

“ They are coming now, in good earnest, Monkbarns 
— 1 just cam frae Fairport to bring ye the news, and then 
rii step awa back again — the Search has just come into 
ilie bay, and they say she’s been chased by a French fleet.” 


226 


THE A]VTIQ,UARY. 


“ The Search ?” said Oldbuck, reflecting a moment. 
“ Oho !” 

“ Ay, ay, Captain Taffril’s gun-brig, the Search.” 

‘‘ What ! any relation to Search, JYo, 11 T’ said Old- 
buck, catching at the light which the name, of the vessel 
seemed to throw on the mysterious chest of treasure. 

The mendicant, like a man detected in a frolic, put his 
bonnet before his face, yet could not help laughing heart- 
ily. — “ The deil’s in you, Monkbarns, for garring odds 
and evens meet — Wha thought ye wad hae laid that and 
that thegither — Odd, I am clean catched now.” 

“ I see it all,” said Oldbuck, “ as plain as the legend 
on a medal of high preservation — the box in which the 
bullion was found belonged to the gun-brig, and the treas- 
ure to my phoenix 9”^ — (Edie nodded assent.) — “ And 
was buried there that Sir Arthur might receive relief in 
his difficulties ?” 

“ By me,” said Edie, “ and twa of the brig’s men — 
But they didna ken its contents ; and thought it some 
bit smuggling concern o’ the Captain’s. I watched day 
and night till I saw it in the right hand ; and then, when 
that German deevil was glowering at the lid o’ the kist, 
(they liked mutton weel that licket whare the yowe lay), 
1 think some Scottish deevil put it into my head to play 
him yon ither cantrip. — Now, ye see, if I had said mair 
or less to Baillie Littlejohn, I behoved till hae come out 
wi’ a’ this story ; and vexed wad Mr. Lovel hae been tc 
have it brought to light — sae I thought I would stand to 
ony thing rather than that.” 

‘‘ 1 must say he has chosen his confidant well,” said 
Oldbuck, “ though somewhat strangely.” 

“ I’ll say this for mysell, Monkbarns,” answered the 
mendicant, “ that I am the fittest man in the haill country" 
to trust wi’ siller, for I neither want it, nor wish for it 
nor could use ’t if I had it. But the lad hadna muckle 
choice in the matter, for he thought he was leaving the 
country forever, (I trust he’s mista’en in that though ;) 
and the night was set in when we learned, by a strange 
chance, Sir Arthur’s sair distress, and Lovel was obliged 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


227 


■o be on board as the day dawned. But five niojits af- 
terwards the brig stood into the bay, and I met the boat 
by appointment, and we buried the treasure where ye 
land it.” 

“ Tiiis was a very romantic, foolish exploit,” said Old 
buck — “ VViiy not trust me, or any other friend 9” 

The blood o’ your sister’s son,” replied Edie, “ was 
on his hands, and him maybe dead outright — what time 
had he to take counsel — or how could he ask it of you, 
by ony body 9” 

“ You are right. But what if Dousterswivel had come 
before you 9” 

“ There was little fear o’ his coming there without Sir 
Artiiur — he had gotten a sail* gliff the night afore, and 
never intended to look near the place again, unless he 
had been brought there sting and ling — He kend weel 
the first j>ose was o’ his ain hiding, and how could he ex- 
pect a second 9 He just liavered on about it to make 
the mail* o’ Sir Arthur.” 

“ Then how,” said Oldbuck, “ should Sir Arthur have 
come there unless the German had brought him 9” 

“ Umph !” answered Edie dryly, “ 1 had a story about 
Misticot wad hae brought him forty miles, or you either, 
l^esides, it was to be thought he would be for visiting the 
place he fund the first siller in — he kend na the secret 
o’ that job. In short, the siller being in this shape, Sir 
Arthur in utter difficulties, and Lovel determined he 
should never ken the hand that helped him, — for that was 
what he insisted maist upon, — we couldna diink o’ a better 
w'ay to fling the gear in his gate, though we simmered it 
and wintered it e’er sae lang. And if by ony queer mis- 
chance, Doustercivel had got his claws on’t, 1 w*as instant- 
ly to hae informed you or the Sheriff o’ the haill story.” 

“ Well, notwithstanding all these wise precautions, I 
think your contrivance succeeded better than such a 
clumsy one deserved, Edie. But how the deuce came 
Hovel by such a mass of silver ingots 9” 

“ That’s just what I canna tell ye — But they were put 
oa board wi’ liis things at Fairport it’s like, and we stowed 
21 


228 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


them into ane o' the ammunition-boxes o’ the brig, baith 
for concealment and convenience of carriage.” 

“ Lord !” said Oldbuck, his recollection recurring to 
the earlier part of his acquaintance with Lovel ; “ and 
this young fellow, who was putting hundreds on so strange 
a hazard, I must be recommending a subscription to him^ 
and paying his bill at the Ferry ! I never will pay any per- 
son’s bill again, that’s certain. — And you kept up a con- 
stant correspondence with Lovel, I suppose 

“ I just gat ae bit scrape o’ a pen frae him, to say there 
wad, as yesterday fell, be a packet at Tannonburgh, wi’ 
letters o’ great consequence to the Knockwinnock folk ; 
for they jaloused the opening of our letters at Fairport. 
And that’s as true, I hear Mrs. Mailsetter is to lose her 
office for looking after other folk’s business and neglecting 
her ain.” 

“ And what do you expect, now, Edie, for being the 
adviser, and messenger, and guard, and confidential per- 
son in all these matters 

“ Deil haet do I expect — excepting that a’ the gentles 
will come to the gaberlunzie’s burial ; and may be ye’ll 
carry the head yoursell, as ye did puir Steenie Muckle- 
backit’s. What trouble was’t to me ? I was ganging 
about at ony fate — O but I was blithe when I got out of 
prison, though ; for I thought, what if that weary letter 
should, come when I am closed up here like an oyster, 
and a’ should gang wrang for want o’t ? and whiles 1 
thought 1 maun make a clean breast and tell you a’ about 
it ; but then I couldna weel do that without contravening 
Mr. Level’s positive orders ; and I reckon he had to see 
somebody at Edinburgh afore he could do what he wussed 
to do for Sir Arthur and his family.” 

‘‘ Well, and to your public news, Edie — so they are 
still coming, are they 

“ Troth, they say sae, sir ; and there’s come down 
strict orders for the forces and volunteers to be alert ; and 
there’s a clever young officer to come here forthwith, to 
look at our means o’ defence — I saw the Baillie’s lass 
leaning his belts and white breeks — I gae her a hand 


THE AXTIQ,UART. 


229 


for ye maun think she wasna ower clever at it, and sae ' 
gal a’ the news for my pains.” 

“ And what think you, as an old soldier 

“ Troth, I kenna — an they come sae mony as they 
speak o’, they’ll be odds against us — But there’s mony 
yauld chields amang thae volunteers ; and I maunna say 
muckle about them that’s no weel and no very able, be- 
cause I am something that gate mysell — But we’se do our 
best.” 

“ What ! so your martial spirit is rising again, Edie ? 

* Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires !’ 

I would not have thought you, Edie, had so much to fight 
Cor r 

“ Me no muckle to fight for, sir ? — Isna there the 
country to fight for, and the burnsides that I gang daun- 
dering beside, and the hearths o’ the gudewives that gie 
me my bit bread, and the bits o’ weans that come tod- 
dling to play wi’ me when I come about a landward 
town ? — Deil !” he continued, grasping his pikestafi, 
with great emphasis, “ an I had as gude pith as I hae 
glide-will, and a gude cause, I should gie some o’ them a 
day’s kemping.” 

“ Bravo, bravo, Edie ! the country’s in little ultimate 
danger, when the beggar’s as ready to fight for his dish 
as the laird for his land.” 

Their further conversation reverttd to the particulars 
of the night passed by the mendicant and Level in the 
ruins of St. Ruth ; by the details of which the Antiquary 
was highly amused 

“ 1 would have given a guinea,” he said, ‘‘ to have 
seen the scoundrelly German under the agonies of those 
terrors, which it is part of his own quackery to inspire into 
others ; and trembling alternately for the fury of his pa- 
tron, and the apparition of some hobgoblin.” 

“ Troth,” said the beggar, “ there was time for him 
to be cowed ; for ye wad hae thought the very spirit o* 

VOL. II. 


•230 


THE ANT1Q,UART. 


Hell-in-Harness had taken possession o’ the body o’ Sii 
Arihiir. But what will come o’ the land-louper 9” 

‘‘ 1 have had a letter this morning, from which I un- 
derstand he has acquitted you of the charge he brought 
against you, and offers to make such discoveries as will 
render the settlement of Sir Arthur’s affairs a more easy 
task than we apprehended. — So writes the Sheriff ; and 
adds, that he has given some private information of im- 
portance to government ; in consideration of which, 1 
understand he will be sent back to play the knave in his 
own country.” 

And a’ the bonny engines, and wheels, and the coves, 
and sheughs, doun at Glenwithershins yonder, what’s to 
come o’ them 9” said Edie. 

“ I hope the men, before they are dispersed, will make 
a bonfire of their gimcracks, as an army destroy their 
artillery when forced to raise a siege. And as for the 
holes, Edie, I abandon them as rat-traps, for the benefit 
of the next wise men who may choose to drop the sub- 
stance to snatch at a shadow.” 

“ Hech, sirs ! guide us a’ ! to burn the engines 9 that’s 
a great waste — Had ye na better try to get back part o’ 
vour hundred pounds wi’ the sale o’ the materials 9” he 
continued with a tone of affected condolence. 

“ INot a farthing,” said the Antiquary, peevishly , 
taking a turn from him, and making a step or two away. 
Then returning, half-smiling at his own pettishness, he 
said, “ Get thee into the house, Edie, and remember my 
counsel : never to speak to me about a mine, or to my 
nephew Hector about a phoca, that is a sealgh, as you 
call it.” 

“ I maun be ganging my ways back to Fairport,” said 
the wanderer ; “ 1 want to see what they are saying there 
about the invasion — but I’ll mind what your honour says, 
no to speak to you about a sealgh, or to the Captain about 

Uie hundred pounds that you gied to Douster” 

“ Confound tliee ! — I desired thee not to mention that 
to me.” 


THE ANT1Q,UARY. 


23 


“ Dear me !” said Edie, with affected surprise ; 
‘ weel, I thouglit tliere was naething but what your hon- 
our could hae studden in the way o’ agreeable conversa- 
tion, unless it was about the Prtetorran yonder, or the 
bodle that the packman sauld to ye for an auld coin.’' 
, ‘‘ Pshaw, pshaw,” said the Antiquary, turning from 

him hastily, and retreating into the house. 

The mendicant looked after him a moment, and with 2 
chuckling laugh, such as that with which a magpie or 
parrot applauds a successful exploit of mischief, he re- 
sumed once more the road to Fairport. His habits had 
given him a sort of restlessness, much increased by the 
pleasure he took in gathering news ; and in a short time 
he had regained the town which he left in the morning, 
for no reason that he knew himself, unless just to “ hae a 
bit crack wi’ Monkbarns.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Red glared the beacon on Pownell, 

On Skiddaw there were three ; 

The bugle-horn on moor and fell 
Was heard continually. 

Jcunes Hogg. 

The watch who kept his watch on the hill, and look- 
ed toward Birnam, probably conceived himself dreaming 
when he first beheld the fated grove put itself into mo- 
tion for its march to Dunsinane. Even so, old Caxon, 
as, perched in his hut, he qualified his thoughts upon the 
approaching marriage of his daughter, and the dignity of 
being father-in-law to Lieutenant Taffril, with an occa- 
sional peep towards the signal-post with which his own 
corresponded, was not a little surprised by observing a 
light in that direction. He rubbed his eyes, looked again, 
adjusting his observation by a cross-staff which had been 


232 


THE ANTIC^UART. 


placed so as to bear upon the point. And behold, the 
light increased, like a comet to the eye of the astrono- 
mer, “ with fear of change perplexing nations.” 

“ The Lord preserve us !” said Caxon, “ what’s to 
be done now f — But there will be wiser heads than mine 
to look to that, sae I’se e’en fire the beacon.” 

And he lighted the beacon accordingly, which threw 
up to the sky a long wavering train of light, startling the 
sea-fowl from their nests, and reflected far beneath by the 
reddening billows of the sea. The brother warders of 
Caxon being equally diligent, caught and repeated his sig- 
nal. The lights glanced on headlands and capes and in- 
land hills, and the whole district was alarmed by the 
signal of invasion.^® 

Our Antiquary, his head wrapped warm in two double 
night-caps, was quietly enjoying his repose, when it was 
suddenly broken by the screams of his sister, his niece 
and two maid-servants. 

“ What the devil is the matter said he, starting up 
in his bed — “ womankind in my room at this hour of 
night ! — are ye all mad 

“ The beacon, uncle!” said Miss M’Intyre. 

“ The French coming to murder us 1” screamed Miss 
Griselda. 

“ The beacon, the beacon ! — The French, the French ! 
- — murder, murder ! and waur than murder !” — cried the 
two handmaidens, like the chorus of an opera. 

“ The French said Oldbuck, starting up, — “ get out 
of the room, womankind that you are, till I get my things 
on — And, hark ye, bring me my sword.” 

“ Whilk o’ them, Monkbarns .^” cried his sister, offer- 
ing a Roman falchion of brass with the one hand, with 
the other an Andrea Ferrara without a handle. 

‘‘ The langest, the langest,” cried Jenny Rintheroiit, 
dragging in a two-handed sword of the twelfth century. 

“ Womankind,” said Oldbuck, in great agitation, “ be 
composed and do not give way to vain terror — Are you 
5ure they are come 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


233 


“ Sure . — sure 1” exclaimed Jenny, — “ ower sure ! — 
a’ the sea fencibles, and the land fencibles, and the volun- 
teers and yeomanry, are on fit, and driving to Fairpoii 
as hard as horse and man can gang — and auld Muckle- 
backit’s gane wi’ the lave — muckle good he’ll do ; — > 
Hech, sirs ! heHl be missed the morn wha wad hae served 
king and country weel !” 

“ Give me,” said Oldbuck, the sword which my 
father wore in the year forty-five — it hath no belt or 
baldrick — but \^e’ll make shift.” 

So saying he thrust the weapon through the cover ot 
his breeches pocket. At this moment Hector entered 
who had been to a neighbouring height to ascertain wheth-- 
er the alarm was actual. 

“ Where are your arms, nephew ?” exclaimed Old- 
buck — “ where is your double-barrelled gun that was 
never out of your hand when there was no occasion for 
such vanities .^” 

“Pooh! pooh ! sir,” said Hector, “ who ever took a 
fowling-piece on action ? — I have got my uniform on, you 
see — I hope I shall be of more use if they will give me a 
command, than I could be with ten double-barrels. And 
you, sir, must get to Fairport, to give directions for the 
quartering and maintaining the men and horses, and pre- 
venting confusion.” 

“ You are right. Hector, — I believe I shall do as much 
with my head as my hand too — But here comes Sir Arthur 
Wardour, who, between ourselves, is not fit to accomplish 
much either one way or other.” 

Sir Arthur was probably of a difierent opinion ; for, 
dressed in his lieutenancy uniform, he was also on the 
road to Fairport, and called in his way to take Mr. Old- 
buck with him, having had his original opinion of his sa- 
gacity much confirmed by late events. And in spite of all 
die entreaties of the womankind that the Antiquary would 
stay to garrison Monkbarns, Mr. Oldbuck, with his neph- 
ew instantly accepted Sir Arthur’s offer. 


VOL. II. 


234 


THE ANTlq,UAKY. 


Those who have witnessed such a scene can alone 
conceive the slate of !)nsile in Fairport. 'The windows 
were glancin!' wiili a himdrt‘d liglns, which, appearing and 
disappearing rajiidiy, indicated the <‘oni(ision witliin doors 
The women of lower rank assembled and clamoured ir 
the markel-})lace. 'ITie yeomanry, pouring from their dif- 
ferent glens, galloped through the streets, some individu- 
ally, some in parties of five or six, as they had met on the 
road. The drums and fifes of the volunteers heating to 
arms, were blended with the voice of the officers, the 
sound of the bugles, and the tolling of the bells from the 
steeple. The ships in the harbour were lit up, and boats 
from the armed vessels added to the bustle, by landing 
men and guns, destined to assist in the defence of the 
place. This part of the preparations was superintended 
by Taffril with much activity. Two or three light vessels 
had already sli])ped their cables and stood out to sea, in 
order to discover the supposed enemy. 

Such was the scene of general confusion, when Sir 
Arthur Wardour, Oldbuck, and Hector, made their way 
with difiiculty into the principal square, where the town- 
house is situated. It was lighted up, and the magistracy, 
with many of the neighbouring gentlemen, were assem- 
bled. And here, as upon other occasions of the like 
kind in Scotland, it was remarkable how the good sense 
and firmness of the people supplied almost all the defi- 
ciencies of inexperience. The magistrates were beset 
by the quarter-masters of the different corps for billets 
for men and horses. 

“ Let us,” said Baillie Littlejohn, “ take the horses 
into our ware houses, and the men into our parlours, — 
share our supper with the one, and our forage will* the 
other. We have made ourselves wealthy under a free 
and paternal government, and now is the time to show 
u^e know its value.” 

A loud and cheerful acquiescence was given by all 
present, and the substance of the wealthy, with the persons 
of those of all ranks, were unanimously devoted to the 
defence of the country. 


THE ANTIQ,Ui.RY. 


235 


Captain M'Intyre acted on this occasion as military 
adviser and aid-de-camp to the principal magistrate, and 
displayed a degree of presence of mind, and knowledge ol 
his profession, totally unexpected by his uncle, who, re- 
collecting his usual insouciance and impetuosity, gazed at 
him with astonishment from time to time, as he remarked 
the calm and steady manner in which he explained the 
various measures of precautions that his experience sug- 
gested, and gave directions for executing them. He 
found the different corps in good order, considering the 
irregular materials of which they were composed, in great 
force of numbers, and high confidence and spirits. And 
so much did military experience at that moment overbal- 
ance all other claims to consequence, that even old Edie, 
instead of being left, like Diogenes at Sinope, to roll his 
tub when all around were preparing for defence, had the 
duty assigned him of superintending the serving out of the 
ammunition, which he executed with much discretion. 

Two things were still anxiously expected — the pres- 
ence of the Glenallan volunteers, who, in consideration of 
the importance of that family, had been formed into a 
separate corps, and the arrival of the officer before an- 
nounced, to whom the measures of defence on that coast 
had been committed by the commander-in-chief, and 
whose commission would entitle him to take upon himself 
the full disposal of the military force. 

At length the bugles of the Glenallan yeomanry weie 
heard, and the Earl himself, to the surprise of all who 
knew his habits and state of health, appeared at their 
head in uniform. They formed a very handsome and 
well-mounted squadron, formed entirely out of the Earl’s 
lowland tenants, and were followed by a regiment of five 
hundred men, completely equipped in the highland 
dress, whom he had brought down from the upland glens, 
with their pipes playing in the van. The clean and ser- 
viceable appearance of this band of feudal dependants 
called forth the admiration of Captain M’Intyre ; but his 
uncle was still more struck by the manner in which, upon 
tills crisis, the ancient military spirit of his house seemed 


536 


THE ANTKiUATlT. 


to animate and invigorate the decayed frame of the Earl, 
their leader. He claimed, and obtained for himself and 
his followers, the post most likely to be that of danger, 
displa}ed great alacrity in making the necessary dispo- 
sitions, and showed equal acuteness in discussing their 
propriety. Morning broke in upon the military councils 
of Fail-port, while all concerned were still eagerly engag- 
ed in taking precautions for their defence. 

At length a cry among the people announced, “ There’s 
the brave Major Neville come at last, with another officer 
and their post-chaise and four drove into the square, 
amidst the huzzas of the volunteers and inhabitants. The 
magistrates, with their assessors of the lieutenancy, hast- 
ened to the doorof their town-house to receive him ; but 
what was the surprise of all present, but most especially 
that of the Antiquary, when they became aware, that the 
handsome uniform and military cap disclosed the person 
and features of the pacific Lovel ! A warm embrace, and 
a hearty shake of the hand, were necessary to assure 
him that his eyes were doing him justice. Sir Arthur was 
no less surprised to recognize his son, Captain Wardour, 
in Level’s, or rather Major Neville’s company. The 
first words of the young officers were a positive assurance 
to all present, that the courage and zeal which they had 
displayed were entirely thrown away, unless in so far as 
they afforded an acceptable proof of their spirit and 
promptitude. 

“ The watchman at Halket-kead,” said INIajor Neville, 
‘‘ as we Oiscovered by an investigation which we made 
in our route hither, was most naturally misled by a bon- 
fire which some idle people had made on the hill above 
Glenwithershins, just in the line of the beacon with which 
his corresponded.” 

Oldbuck gave a conscious look to Sir Arthur, wdio re 
turned it with one equally sheepish, and a shrug of the 
shoulders. 

“ It must have been the machinery which we condemn- 
ed to the flames in our wrath,” said the Antiquary, pluck- 
ing up heart, though not a little ashamed of having been 


THE ANTKtITAKt. 


^37 


the cause of so much disturbance — “the devil take Dous- 
lersvvivel with all my heart ! — I think he has bequeathed 
us a legacy of blunders and mischief, as if he had lighted 
some train of fireworks at his departure — I wonder what 
cracker will go off next among our shins. But yonder 
comes the prudent Caxon. Hold up your head, you ass 
— your betters must bear the blame for you — And here, 
take this what-d’ye-call-it” — (giving him his sword) — “ I 
wonder what 1 would have said yesterday to any man that 
would have told me I was to stick such an appendage to 
my tail.” 

Here he found his arm gently pressed by Lord Glenal- 
lan, who dragged him into a separate apartment. “ For 
God’s sake who is that young gentleman who is so strik- 
ingly like” 

“ Like the unfortunate Eveline,” interrupted Oldbuck. 

I felt my heart warm to him from the first, and your 
lordship has suggested the very cause.” 

“ But who — who is he ?” continued Lord Glenallan, 
holding the Antiquary with a convulsive grasp. 

“ Formerly I would have called him Lovel, but now 
he turns out to be Major Neville.” 

“ Whom my brother brought up as bis natural son— - 
whom be made his heir — Gracious Heaven ! the chila 
of my Eveline !” 

“ Hold, my lord — hold !” said Oldbuck, “ do not 
give too hasty way to such a presumption — what proba- 
bility is there 

“ Probability ? none ! There is certainty ! absolute 
certainty. Tlie agent I mentioned to you wrote me the 
whole story — 1 received it yesterday, not sooner — Bring 
him, for God’s sake, that a father’s eyes may bless him 
before he departs.” 

“ I will ; but, for your owm sake and his, give him a 
few moments for preparation.” 

And, determined to make still farther investigation be- 
fore yielding his entire conviction to so strange a tale, he 
sought out Major Neville, and found him expediting the 


238 


THE ANTK^UARY. 


necessary measures for dispersing the force which had 
been assembled. 

“ Pray, Major Neville, leave this business for a mo- 
ment to Captain Wardour and to Hector, with whom, I 
hope, you are thoroughly reconciled, (Neville laughed, 
and shook hands with Hector across the table,) and grant 
me a moment’s audience.” 

‘‘ You have a claim on me, Mr. Oldbuck, were my 
business more urgent,” said Neville, ‘‘ for having passed 
myself upon you under a false name, and rewarding your 
hospitality by injuring your nephew.” / 

“ You served him as he deserved,” said Oldbuck ; 
“ though, by the way, he showed as much good sense as 
spirit to-day — Egad, if he would rub up his learning, and 
read Caesar and Polybius, and the Stratagemata PolycBni^ 
I think he would rise in the army, and 1 will certainly 
lend him a lift.” 

“ He is heartily deserving of it,” said Neville ; “ and 
I am glad you excuse me, which you may do the more 
frankly, when you know that I am so unfortunate as to 
have no better right to the name of Neville, by which 1 
have been generally distinguished, than to that of Lovel, 
under which you knew me.” 

‘‘ Indeed ! then, I trust, we shall find out one for you 
to which you shall have a firm and legal title.” 

“ Sir ! — I trust you do not think the misfortune of my 
birth a fit subject” 

“ By no means, young man,” answered the Antiquary, 
interrupting him, — “ I believe I know more of your birth 
than you do yourself — and to convince you of it, you 
were educated and known as a natural son of Geraldin 
Neville of Neville’s-burgh, in Yorkshire, and, I presume, 
as his destined heir*?” 

“ Pardon me — no such views were held out to me ; I 
was liberally educated, and pushed forward in the aimy 
by money and interest ; but I believe my supposed father 
long entertained some ideas of marriage, though he never 
carried them intD effect.” 


THE ANTKiUARY. 


23S 


“ You say yo <r supposed fatlicr ? — What leads you tn 
sn[)[)ose iVlr. Geraldin xNeville was not your real latlicr f ” 
“ 1 kiu)w, Mr. Oldbuck, that you would not ask these 
.]UPStioiis on a point of suc ii delicacy for the graliticatjon 
ol' idle curiosity. I will, therefore, tell you candidly, that 
last year, while we occupied a small town in Frencli- 
Flanders, I found in a convent, near which I was quarter- 
ed, a woman who spoke remarkably good English — Siio 
was a Spaniard — her name Teresa D’Acunha. In the 
process of our acquaintance, she discovered who I was, 
and made herself known to me as the person who had 
charge of my infancy. She dropped more than one hint 
of rank to which 1 was entitled, and of injustice done to 
me, promising a more full disclosure in case of the death 
of a lady in Scotland, during wdiose lifetime she was de- 
termined to keep the secret. She also intimated that 
Mr. Geraldin Neville was not my father. We w’ere at- 
tacked by the enemy, and driven from the town, which 
was pillaged with savage ferocity by the republicans. The 
religious orders w'ere the particular objects of their hate 
and cruelty. The convent w^as burned, and several 
nuns perished, among others Teresa — and with her all 
chance of knowing the story of my birth — tragic by all 
accounts it must have been.” 

“ Raro antecedeniem sceleshtm, or, as 1 may here say, 
tcclestam,^^ said Oldbuck, ^Uleseruit poena — even Epicu- 
reans admitted that — and wdiat did you do iq)on this 
“ I remonstrated with IMr. Neville by letter, and to no 
purpose — 1 then obtained leave of absence, and threw’ 
myself at his feet, conjuring him to coinjilete the disclosure 
w’hich Teresa had begun. He refused, and, on my im- 
portunity, indignantly upbraided me with the favours he 
had already conferred ; 1 thought he abused the powei 
of a benefactor, as he was compelled to admit he had no 
title to that of a father, and W'e parted in mutual displea- 
sure. I renounced the name of Neville, and assumed 
that under which you knew me. — It was at this time, 
when residing with a friend in the north of England who 
favoured my disguise, that I became acquainted with 


240 


THE ANTKiUART. 


Miss Wardour, and was romantic enough to follow her tc 
Scotland. My mind wavered on various plans of life, 
when 1 resolved to apply once more to Mr. Neville for 
an explanation of the mystery of my birth. It was long 
ere 1 received an answer ; you were present when it was 
put into my hands. He informed me of his bad state of 
liealtl), and conjured me, for my own sake, to inquire no 
farther into the nature of his connection with me, but to 
rest satisfied with his declaring it to be such and so inti- 
mate, that he designed to constitute me his heir. When 
1 was preparing to leave Fairport to join him, a second 
express brought me word that he was no more. The 
possession of great wealth was unable to suppress the 
remorseful feelings with which 1 now regarded my con- 
duct to my benefactor, and some hints in his letter ap- 
pearing to intimate that there was on my birth a deeper 
stain than that of ordinary illegitimacy, I remembered 
certain prejudices of Sir Arthur.” 

‘‘ And you brooded over these melancholy ideas until 
you were ill, instead of coming to me for advice, and 
telling me the whole story 9” said Oldbuck. 

“ Exactly ; then came my quarrel with Captain M’ln- 
tyre, and my compelled departure from FairpoVt and its 
vicinity.” 

“ From love and from poetry — Miss Wardour and the 
Caledoniad?” 

“ Most true.” 

‘‘ And since that time you have been occupied, I sup- 
oose, with plans for Sir Arthur’s relief 9” 

“Yes, sir ; with the assistance of Captain Wardour at 
Edinburgh.” 

“ And Edie Ochiltree here — you see I know the whole 
story. But how came you by the treasure 9” 

“ It was a quantity of plate which had belonged to my 
uncle, and was left in the custody of a person at Fairport. 
Some time before his death he had sent orders that it 
should be melted down. He perhaps did not wish me 
to see the Glenallan arms upon it.” 


THE ANTIQUARY. 


241 


Well, Major Neville, or — let me say — Lovel, being 
.he name in which I rather delight, you must, I believe, 
exchange both of your aliases for the style and title of tlie 
honourable William Geraldin, commonly called Lord 
Geraldin.” 

The Antiquary then went through the strange and mel- 
ancholy circumstances concerning his mother’s deata. 

“ I have no doubt,” he said, “ that your uncle wished 
the report to be believed, that the child of this unhappy 
marriage was no more — perhaps he might himself have 
an eye to the inheritance of his brother — he was then a 
gay wild young man. But of all intentions against your 
person, however much the evil conscience of Elspeth 
might lead her to suspect him from the agitation in which 
he appeared, Teresa’s story and your own fully acquit 
him. And now, my dear sir, let me have the pleasure of 
introducing a son to a father.” 

We will not attempt to describe such a meeting. The 
proofs on all sides were found to be complete, for Mr. 
Neville had left a distinct account of the whole transac- 
tion with his confidential steward in a sealed packet, which 
was not to he opened until the death of the old Countess ; 
his motive for preserving secrecy so long appearing to 
have been an apprehension of the effect which the dis- 
covery, fraught with so much disgrace, must necessarily 
produce upon her haughty and violent temper. 

In the evening of that day, the yeomanry and volun- 
teers of Glenallan drank prosperity to their young master. 
In month afterwards. Lord Geraldin was married to 
Miss Wardour, the Antiquary making the lady a present 
of the wedding ring, a massy circle of antique chasing, 
bearing the motto of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, Kunst macht 
gunst. 

Old Edie, the most important man that ever wore a blue 
gown, howls away easily from one friend’s house to anoth- 
er, and boasts* hat he never travels unless on a sunny 
day. Latterly, indeed, he has given some symptoms of 
becoming stationary, being frequently found in the cornet 

VOL. II. 


242 


THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


of a snug cottage between IMonkbarns and Knockwinnock 
to which Caxon retreated upon his daugliter’s marriage, in 
order to be in the neighbourhood of the three parocliial 
wigs, wliich he continues to keep iu repair, though only 
for amusement. Edie has been heard to say, “ Tiiis is 
a gay bcin place, and it’s a comfort to hae sic a corner to 
sit in in a bad day.’* 

It is thought, as he growls stifFer in the joints, he will 
finally settle there. 

The bounty of such wealthy patrons as Lord and Lady 
Geraldin flowed copiously upon Mrs. Hadoway and upon 
the Mucklebackits. By the former it was well emjiloy- 
ed, by the latter wasted. They continue, however, to 
receive it, but under the administration of Edie Ochiltree ; 
and they do not accept it without grumbling at the 
channel through which it is conveyed. 

Hector is rising rapidly in the army, and has been 
more than once mentioned in the Gazette, and rises pro- 
portionally high in his uncle’s favour. And, what scarce- 
ly pleases the young soldier less, he has also shot two 
seals, and thus put an end to the Antiquary’s perpetual 
harping upon the story of the phoca. People talk of a 
marriage between Miss M’Intyre and Captain Wardour, 
but this wants confirmation. 

The Antiquary is a frequent visiter at Knockwinnock 
and Glenallan-house, ostensibly for the sake of completing 
two essays, one on the mail-shirt of the Great Earl, and 
the other on the left-hand gauntlet of Hell-in-Harness. 
He regularly inquires whether Lord Geraldin hafj com- 
menced the Caledoniad, and shakes his head at the an- 
swers he receives. En aitevdant, however, he has com- 
pleted his notes, which, we believe, will be at t!ie service 
of any one who chooses to m; <e them public, without risk 
or expense tc The Antiq.i \ry. 


NOTES TO THE ANTIQUAHV. 


1 . Page 3. The author cannot remember where these lines arc /o be 
found } perhaps in Bishop Hall’s Satires. 

2. Page 4. It is, I believe, a piece of free-jnasonry, or a point o' con- 
cieiice, among the Scotiish lower onlers, never to a<linil that a put ent is 

doing heller. The closest approach to recovery which they can be Lroughl 
to allow, is, that the puny imjuired alter is “ Nae waur.” 

3. Page 50. In the fishing villages on the Friths of F(*rth and Tay. as 
well as elsewhere in Si-oilain:. the governnient is gyiiecocracy, as «lescribed 
in the text. In the course ol' the late war. and during the alarm t)l’ invasion, 
a licet of transports enierc'd the Frith of Forth, under llie convoy «)f some 
ships of war which would reply to no signals. A general alarm was excited, 
in conseijuence o'! which, all the lishers. who wi-rc enrolled as sca-lenci!»les, 
g<»t on lioard die gun-boats, which liny were lo man as occasion slioulil re- 
quire. and sailed lo oppose the supposed enemy. 'I’he ibreigners provetl lo 
be flussians. with whom we weiv liicn at peace. 'I'lie county genllemen of 
Mid-I.«»thian, pleaseil with the /cal displayeil by the sea-lcncibles at a criti- 
cal moment, passed a vote for presenling the community <d lishers with a 
silver punch-bowl, to be used on occasions of fcsiiviiy. Hut the fislier-wo 
men. on hearing what was inten«le<l, |)ut in their claim lo have some separate 
share in the intended honorary reward. 'I'he men, they said, were liicir hus- 
bands } it was I hey who would have been sulferers if their husbands had 
been .killetl, an I it was l>y their permission and injunciions that they embark- 
ed on board the gun-boats for tlie public ser\ ice. 'I’hev iherelore claimed lo 
share the reward in some manner which sliould disli'iguish the female patriot- 
ism which they had shown on ilie occasion. 'I’he gentlemen ol ilie county 
willingly admittiul Ine claim ; and. without diminishing the value of ihoir 
compliment lo tlie men, they made the females a present of a valuable brooch, 
to lasien the plaid of tlie queen of the fisher-women for the lime. 

It may be farther reinarkeil, tliat these Nereids are punctilious among 
themselves, and observe dilVerenl ranks according to the commodities they 
deal in. One experienced dame was heard to characterise a younger damsel 
as ** a pair siliv thing, who had no ambition, and would never,” she piophe- 
sied, “ rise above the tniissel-line of business.” 

4. Page 65. A single soldier means, in Scotch, a private soldier. 

5. Page lit. A/us.w-mora, an ancient name for a ihingenn. derived frooj 
rite Moorish language, perhajis as far liack as the iiiur of the Crusades. 

6. Page 133. Fousoicdie. Miscellaneous mess. 


244 


NOTES TO THE ANTIQ,UARY. 


7. Page 177. The doctrine of Monkbarns on the origin of imprisonmcal 
for civil debt in Scotland, may appear somewhat whimsical, but was referred 
to, and admitted to be correct, by the Bench of the Supreme Scottish Court, 
on 5th December, 1828, in the case of Thom r. Black. In fact, the Scottish 
law is in this particular more jealous of the personal liberty of the subject 
than any other code in Europe. 

8. Page 184. The great battle of Harlaw, here and formerly refeired to, 
might be said to determine whether the Gaelic or the Saxon race should be 
predominant in Scotland. Donald, Lord of the Isles, who had at that period 
the power of an independent sovereign, laid claim to the Earldom of Ross 
during the Regency of Robert, Duke of Albany. To enforce his supposed 
right, he ravaged the north with a large army of Highlanders and Islesmen. 
lie was encountered at Harlaw, in the Garioch, by Alexander, Earl of Mar, 
at the head of the nortliern nobility and gentry of Saxon and Norman de- 
scent, The battle was bloody and indecisive j but the invader was obliged 
to retire, in consequence of the loss he sustained, and afterwards was com- 
pelled to make submission to the Regent, and renounce his pretensions to 
Ross ; so that all the advantages of the field were gained by the Saxons. 
The battle of Harlaw was fought 24th July, 1411. 

9. Page 188. The concluding circumstance of Elspeth's death is taken 
from an incident said to have happened at the funeral of John, Duke of Rox- 
burghe. All who were acquainted with that accomplished nobleman must re- 
member, that he was not more remarkable for creating and possessing a most 
curious and splendid library, than for his acquaintance with the literary treas- 
ures it contained. In arranging his books, fetching and replacing the volumes 
which he wanted, and carrying on all the necessary intercourse which a man 
of letters holds with his library, it was the Duke’s custom to employ, not a 
secretary or librarian, but a livery servant, called Archie, whom habit had 
made so perfectly acquainted with the library, that he knew every book, as a 
sheplierd does tlie individuals of his flock, by what is called head-mark, and 
could bring his master whatever volume he wanted, and afford all the me- 
chanical aid the Duke required in his literary researches. To secure the at- 
tendance of Archie, there was a bell hung in his room, which was used on no 
occasion except to call him individually to the Duke’s study. 

H is Grace died in Saint James’s Square, London, in the year 1804 ; the 
body was to be conveyed to Scotland, to lie in state at his mansion of Fleurs, 
and to be removed from thence to the family burial-place at Bowden. 

At this time, Archie, who had been long attacked by a liver-complaint, was 
in the very last stage of that disease. Yet he prepared himself to accompa- 
ny the body of the master whom he had so long and so faithfully waited up- 
on. The medical persons assured him he could not survive the journey. It 
signified nothing, he said, whether he died in England or Scotland ; he was 
resolved to assist in rendering the last honours to the kind master from whom 
he had been inseparable for so many years, even if he should expire in the 
attempt. The poor invalid was permitted to attend the Duke’s body to 
Scotland } but when they reached Fleurs he was totally exhausted, and oblig- 
ed to keep his bed, in a sort of stupor which announced speedy dissolution. 
On the morning of the day fixed for removing the dead body of the Duke to 
the place of burial, the private bell by which he was wont to summon his at- 
tendant to his study, was rung violently. This might easily happen in the 
confusion of such a scene, although the people of the neighbourhood prefer 
believing that the bell sounded of its own accord. Ring, however, it did ; 
and Archie, roused by the well-kno'vn summons, rose up in his bed, and fal- 
tered, in broken accents, Yes, my Lord Duke — yes — I will wait on youi 
Grace instantly and with these words ou his lips, he is said to have fallen 
back and expired.” 


NOTES TO THE ANTIQUARY, 


245 


10. Page 232. The story of the false alarm at Fairport, and the conse- 

K iences, are taken from a real incident. Those who witnessed the state of 
rilain, and of Scotland in particular, from the period that succeeded the 
war whiclr commcncerl in 1803 to the battle of Trafalgar, must recollect those 
limes with feelings which we can hardly hope to make the rising generation 
comprehend. Almost every individual was enrolled either in a military oi 
civil capacity, for the purpose of contributing to resist the long-suspended 
threats of invasion, which were echoed from every quarter. Beacons were 
erected along the coast, and all through the country, to give the signal for 
every one to repair to the post where his peculiar duty called him, and men 
of every description fit to serv'e held themselves in readiness on the shortest 
summons. During this agitating period, and on the evening of the 2d Febru- 
ary, 1804, the person who kept watch on the commanding station of Home 
Castle, being deceived by some accidental fire in the county of Northumber- 
land, which he took for the corresponding signal-light in that county with 
which his orders were to communicate, lighted up his own l)eacon. The sig- 
nal w'as immediately repeated through all the valleys on the F-nglisn Border. 
If the beacon at Saint Abbs-head had been fired, the alarm would have run 
northward, and roused all Scotland. But the watch at this important point 
judiciously considered, that if there had been an actual or threatened descent 
on our eastern sea-coast, tire alarm w'ould have come a.ong the coast, and 
Bot from the interior of the country. 

Through the Border counties the alarm spread with rapidity, and on no oc- 
casion when that country was the scene of perpetual and unceasing war, was 
the summons to arms more readily obeyed. In Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, 
and Selkirkshire, the volunteers and militia got under arms with a degree of 
rapidity and alacrity which, considering the distance individuals lived from 
each oilier, had something in it very surprising — -Key poured to the alarm- 
posts on the sea-coast in a state so well armed and so completely appointed, 
with baggage, provisions, &c., as was accounted by the best military judges 
to render them fit for instant and elfeciual service. 

There were some particulars in the general alarm which are curious and 
interesting. The men of Liddesdale, the most remote point to the westwara 
which the alarm reached, were so much afraid of being late in the field, that 
they put in requisition all the horses they could find, and when they had thus 
made a forced march out of their own county, they turned their borrowed 
steeds loose to find their way back through the hills, and they all got back 
safe to their own stables. Another remarkable circumstance was, the gene- 
ral cry of the inhabitants of the smaller towns for arms, that they mignl go 
along with their companions. The Selkirkshire Yeomanry made a remarka- 
ble march, for although some of the individuals lived at twenty and thirty 
miles distance from the place where they mustered, they w-ere nevertheless 
embodied and in order in so short a period, that they were at Dalkeith, w'hich 
was their alarm-post, about one o’clock on the day succeeding the first sig- 
nal, with men and horses in goo<l order, though the roads were in a bad state, 
and many of the troopers must have ridden forty or fifty miles without draw'- 
ing bridle. 'I’wo members of the corps chanced to be absent from their 
homes, and in Fdinburgh on private business. The lately married wife or 
one of these gentlemen, and the widowed mother of the other, sent the arms, 
uniforms, and chargers of the two troopers, that they might join their com- 
panions at Dalkeilli. The author was very much struck by the answer made 
to him by the last-mentioned lady, w'hen he paid her some compliment on the 
readiness which she showed in equipping her son with the means of meeting 
danger, when she might have left him a fair excuse for remaining absent. 

Sir,” she replied, w'ith the spirit of a Roman matron, “ none can know 
better than yon that my son is ihe only prop by which, since his father’s 
death, our family is supported. But I would rather see him dead on that 
hearth, than hear that he had been a horse’s length behind his companions in 


216 


NOTES TO THE ANTIQUARY 


Iho defpjice of his kinjf and country.^' The author mentions what was imme> 
iliaifly imtlcr Ins own eye, and wiiliin his own knowledjfe ; hut the spirit was 
un!»»T«al. wherever ihe alarm reached, hoth in Scollainl and England. 

Ttie ari‘«»niit of die n*ady patriotism ilisplayed hy the country on this oc 
r.asMjii. warmod tlie hearts of .'Scottishmen in every corner of the world. It 
reaeneii tin- ears of the well-known Dr. Deyilen. whose enthusiastic love ol 
.S««»tjand. and of his own district of 'IVvioidale. (drmed a distinguished part 
ol n s iSiaractiT. 'I’lie account, wlncli w'as read to him when on a sick-l>ed, 
stated (very truly) that tlie dilferent corps, on arriving at their alarm-posts, 
aiim iiiM-ed tliemselves l*y tlnnr music piayinjj the tunes pet niiar to tin ir own 
districts, many of wliich liave been gailierin^-sigiials for centuries. It was 
particularly remembered, that the Liddesdale men, before menlioucd, enter- 
ed Kelso pluy.ii" tlie Uvely tune — 

“ O wha dare meddle wi’ me, 

Ami wha dare methlle wi* me ! 

My name it is little .lock Klliol, 

And wha dare meddle wi' me 

Ti e patient was so delijrhtetl with this display of ancient Border spirit, that 
he •i.orun^ up III hi'i l»ed. and be<raii to sinjf the ohi soiiif with such vehenuuice 
of .tciion and voire, thai his aiteiniants. i;^norant of the citiise ol e.\cnaiion, 
coiii'hided thill the lever hail liikeii iiossession of his brain ; and it vvas only 
the iMiiiN of aiiotlKT Itorderer. Sir John .Miilcolrn. ami the expliiimtioii which 
be was v'l'll qualified to give, that prevented them from resorting to means 
of iiK'diciil l oercion. 

l ie* circumstances of this fidso alaiin. and its ronseqiionces, may be now 
he'd of too hide importance even for a note upon a wink of fiction ; bin. at 
tne piTiod wfien it haitpened, it was Iniiled by the coumry as a propitious 
oiiien, ttiai die national force, to whicti ni’ich must naturallx have !*«‘en Inisi- 
ed. hail the spirit to look in the fain* the I'anger which tlii'y had taken arms to 
ce(>cl ; and everv oni- was iMiivinred, dial on wlncticvcr side (lod iniglii be- 
stow the victory, tlie invaders vvouhl meet wiui the most determined oppush 
tbu trotc il.e children ol the .sod. 


END OF THE ANTIQUARY. / 




I 








